


A Different Kind of Buzz

by georgialeigh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgialeigh/pseuds/georgialeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Georgia Wright and Harry Styles have been best friends since childhood. Harry Styles loves Nick Grimshaw. Love triangulation ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

12.21.11

She knew deep down she could be cool, calm and collected if she wanted to be. She’d been quite good at keeping her composure whilst Harry had been on X Factor. She hadn’t hopped up and screamed in delight when he made it through each week with his group as her mother and Anne had done. And now he was coming home, apparently, and his new buddy from Radio One, Nick Grimshaw, was coming with him. She knew for a while that Harry was bisexual. He had admitted as much to her on the phone late one night when he was in the X Factor house. It didn’t bother her like it would’ve bothered other girls. He trusted her, as his oldest friend and former girlfriend.

“Who cares, Harry?” She’d shrugged, lying atop her bed with her notes for biology splayed out in front of her. She was to be studying for exams. As her mum had said, she’ll never get into medical school if she doesn’t study for those exams. She’d wanted to be a surgeon as long as she could remember and Harry had always encouraged her - the smartest in their group of friends.

“I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone. It’s no one’s business but my own, innit?” He had sighed. He was tired of whispering in his shared bedroom.

“You don’t trust your band mates?”

“I do, just not the same…”

She’d talked to him that night until he fell asleep. She talked to him a lot of nights after performances. He didn’t call when they lost to Rebecca Ferguson & the other guy, Matt… But he called a few days ago to tell her they’d been signed to Simon Cowell’s record label, splitting 2 million quid between the five of them.

There was a knock at the front door and she stood to get it - her mum and dad at work for the day and her brother, Ben at a friend’s and her sister Ella away with her boyfriend until Christmas morning. She pulled open the heavy oak door and smiled at the sight of Harry stood there with a beanie over his curls and a oatmeal colored cable knit jumper on.

“Hi,” she smiled. He practically tackled her in a hug. It’d been so long since he came home.

“Hi,” he breathed into her hair. She could sense him smelling it. She hadn’t seen him since before he left for the auditions. She’d had classes and he’d had rehearsals.

“You’ve thinned out a bit,” she remarks, holding him away from her body at arms length. “Not sure I like it,” she squints.

“You have as well,” he grins. “What are you doing inside on this lovely wintry afternoon?”

“Lovely? It’s bloody freezing,” she laughs. “Come, have some tea and tell me about your adventures,” she leads him further into the house. He sits atop the formica countertop in the kitchen and watches as she fills the kettle with water and turns the gas stove on with one of those fancy long matches. Harry’s mum’s place is all electric, but he likes this old house in the countryside.

“I bought my mum a Mini Cooper,” Harry states.

“That was nice of you,” she replies, fiddling about in the refrigerator, presumably to get milk for her tea, since she knows Harry drinks his black.

“I’ve got my eye on a Range Rover, for m’self,” he replies. “Can’t rely on Grimmy for rides home,” chuckling lightly.

“Those cars are quite big,” she muses. “But makes sense, if you’ve got like, luggage and the four others to drive around.”

“Where’s your mum and dad and Tweedle Dee and Dumb?” Harry has always called Ben and Ella that. They’re twins - four years older than Harry and Georgia.

“Mum and dad are at work, Ella’s with her boyfriend in Wales or summat, and Ben’s at a friend’s, supposedly. Mum’s worried he’s on drugs.” To this, Harry laughs.

“Of course she is,” he rolls his eyes. “Gemma’s still got it bad for him,” he sighs.

“Sure he misses her, too,” she smiles, reminiscing on Ben and Gemma’s fling. They’d been seventeen at the time, but then Gemma got into Sheffield and Ben got into Liverpool, and, well, Holmes Chapel/Middlewich are right smack in the middle of the two, but clearly too far for either to travel to see the other.

“Don’t tell her that,” Harry laughs. “She’ll be on about it for weeks!” Gemma is a hopeless romantic, as is Georgia, but she’s got her heart a bit more under control, especially since Harry’s been away, and they didn’t have such a clean break that they never talked again, like Gemma and Ben.

The kettle starts to yell for their attention and Harry hops down and turns the fire off. Georgia procures two mugs from the cabinet - a white one with Peter Rabbit on it and a yellow one that’s got the Charlie Brown zig-zag on it, like his jumper. She drops two PG Tips bags in and Harry pours the water and it’s just like old times when they’d cook the Sunday roast for their families. Harry had always been a good hand in the kitchen, and Georgia had been the perfect helper, giving him little kisses and squeezes on his bum as they pattered along.

They sit at her round table and he tells her about X Factor, how gutted they’d all been to lose, but then Simon had confided that Rebecca and Matt had nowhere near the fan base power that 1D possessed, hence, 1D would get Syco’s undivided attention. He felt a bit uneasy about it, but that’s the business, innit?

Dusk started to befall Middlewich. Georgia glanced at the clock on the oven - 3:50 pm.

“I hate how early night falls,” she murmured before turning back to Harry.

“I have to tell you something,” Harry mutters, head hanging, but with pink-tinged cheeks. Christ.

“Out with it then,” she lets out a nervous giggle and wants to stab herself in the eye with a fork.

“I fancy Nick Grimshaw,” he blurts out. His cheeks become, if possible, even redder. She’s never known Harry to be embarrassed. “And no one knows but you, which is awful, because you don’t deserve to have your ex-boyfriend like, telling you this… and I should just tell my mum and not be a coward but what if she like, thinks I’m just going through a phase?” Well, maybe he is, Georgia thinks to herself. She’s hurt by his admission, she allows herself to realize. She thought Harry came over to maybe mend their bridge, work on their relationship, even if from afar. “I’m going to his for Christmas dinner,” he chokes out. This will be their first Christmas apart then, since they were born. Bloody fantastic.

“Oh,” Georgia squeaks out. She realizes her mum will be home shortly from the lawyer’s office (where she works). Her dad doesn’t get home until half six, but she knows her mum will realize something’s wrong immediately. “That’ll be fun,” she perks up, puts a fake smile on, and tells herself that she will be fine, like so many other girls have in their lifetimes. Why do girls always fall for their bisexual ex boyfriends?

“I’d best be going,” he stands, leaving his mug half full on the table. “It was good seeing you… I won’t be round for New Year’s, Louis is throwing this party at our flat…”

“S’alright,” she shrugs. She needs him to leave. The oven reads 3:56.

“Laters, then?” He smiles.

“Laters,” she waves him off as she opens the front door. She sees the Mini Cooper parked in the drive. She waits for him to get inside the car and then shuts the door, heads back into the kitchen to clean their mugs. She’s not sure why, but she feels fresh tears forming in her eyes as she dumps out his Peter Rabbit mug in the sink. 3:58.

12.24.11

She narrowly escaped questioning from her mother, as Ben arrived home shortly after she pulled in and shortly after Harry left her crying in the kitchen. She was sure she’d lost him for good. Could guys be really bisexual? Maybe he would only ever like Nick Grimshaw. Maybe he’d come back to her. She wasn’t even hurt about that, it was… he hadn’t invited her to London to see his flat, or to meet the lads, or to his bloody party. He hadn’t even done it as a courtesy. He was still in Holmes Chapel, she knew, despite her constant state of inebriation thanks to mulled wine and sherry and amaretto in her tea in the morning.

Instead of having Anne, Robin, Harry and Gemma over for Christmas dinner, they’d be going to her mum’s brother’s place in Oldham. Ironic, as that’s where the Grimshaw residence is.

Georgia notices her phone ringing on her bedside chest and reaches over to answer it, but upon seeing Harry’s name on the screen, she silences it and places it back. Only two weeks until she’s back at school. She can last two weeks, while her friends are away visiting family or on holiday in some tropical island. Why hadn’t she gone with Lucy to the Bahamas, again? Oh, right, because of Harry bloody Styles.

“Can’t wait to see you at Christmas!” He’d happily said into the phone to her two weeks prior. And now look at him, probably balls deep in Nick Grimshaw’s arse. She couldn’t help the hurt in her chest or the constant threat of tears in her eyes - she had history with the man, for Christ’s sakes. His friends and her friends were close, they’d gone to prom together, they’d lost their virginity together two years ago while camping in Newgale during summer holiday. He’d gotten her flowers on Valentines Day every year anonymously until finally admitting it to her the morning after de-flowering her (ironically). He’d been attentive and loving and everything a boyfriend should ever be. He bought her birthday gifts and Christmas presents and she did the same for him. She gave him blowjobs at least twice a week. They had sex nearly every day after school, one way or another. Their lust for one another only died when Harry’s mum signed him up for X Factor and the night before he left for auditions in Manchester. He’d held her close to his chest until four in the morning when they left to go stand in that bloody long line.

The phone started to ring again and she just left it there, ignoring it, buzzing against the wood. She held her favorite stuffed bear and played with his ears, worn after years and years of abuse. It was one of the few things she hadn’t been forced to share with Ella or Benjamin as a hand-me-down.

She wondered what gifts she’d be getting in the morning - perhaps new Hunter wellies, or maybe a Burberry coat? She doubted that.

To her surprise, the phone rang again.

“Lo?” She answered, attempting to sound groggy with sleep. It helped that she’d smoked a spliff out her bedroom window, it made her sound like a frog.

“Hi,” it was Harry of course. “What’re you doing?” He sounded a bit drunk, which would explain why he’d be calling at this hour on Christmas Eve. The past two Christmases her mum had allowed her to sleep over “with Gemma” (wink, wink).

“I’m sleepin, Harry,” she sighs.

“No you’re not, I can see your bedroom light’s on,” he laughs. She can hear someone else laughing in the background. Her stomach rolls at the thought it might be Nick. Would he do that to her?

“What are you on about?” She tries to laugh.

“Kidding, God, Georgia, have a laugh…” That stings, like a slap. Her heart aches in her chest. She doesn’t reply right away. “Sorry, that was mean.” He pauses. “I’m really sorry, please, baby… I didn’t mean it. God, I’m such a dick,” he sighs into the phone.

“Harry, I’ve got to…”

“No, don’t hang up,” he croaks out. She can hear the background noises getting quieter. He must’ve stepped away from the party. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” she replies.

“This Christmas isn’t the same without you.” She’s not sure what he wants to hear.

“You’ve been horrible, Harry,” she feels herself becoming bold. Maybe the build-up of alcohol over the past few days alone at home. “You come here, and you… you hug me and you smell my fucking hair and you tell me about X Factor and then you tell me you fancy a fucking radio presenter whose bloody ten years our senior?” She doesn’t realize she’s yelling. She hears slow footsteps outside her door.

“George… I just… I wanted to be honest with you. I didn’t want…”

“Don’t fucking say you didn’t want to hurt me! You don’t do anything unless it’s very precise and deliberate and have thought about for days in advance and I’d bet anything you thought twice about coming over here because you knew you were putting your stupid fucking heart first! You couldn’t have just… broke it to me plain and simply, because you had to bring up all the old feelings and make it some dramatic fucking production!” She was sobbing, clutching the phone with shaking fingers, clutching her bear to her chest, trying to fill the hole in her heart.

She realizes he’s hung up, not sure how much he’s listened to, but instead of ringing him back, she throws her phone with all her strength at her closet door, and cries herself to sleep.


	2. Part Two

12.25.13

She wakes up with crusty eyes and a dull headache. She pulls on wool socks and a MAN U jumper, and begins the trek downstairs to find her stocking on the mantel and her pile of gifts at the base of the tree. Her mum is in her rose printed bath robe and her dad’s in his recliner with his tea and the paper from two days ago. Ben’s on the sofa, taking up the whole bloody thing with his long legs, and Ella’s not in yet.

“Morning,” Georgia croaks out.

“Good morning Miss Georgia Leigh,” her dad smiles up at her. He looks genuinely happy - and then she sees the light snowfall outside.

“It’s snowing!” She smiles brightly. Her mum laughs.

“Astute,” Ben remarks.

“Are we waiting on Ells?” Georgia asks.

“I suppose we don’t have to,” her dad shrugs. Ben leaps from the couch and tears through a few boxes before finding one with his name. Georgia sheepishly pads over and leans over Ben’s lanky form before finding a large box, most likely shoes, and plucking it from the pile.

She tears off the red Santa paper and nearly shits a brick at the label on the box - a very precise matte black with white lettering - CHANEL.

“Who in the hell…”

She flips around the wrapping paper to find the card. Her stomach drops into her chest.

“I’m not opening this, I’ve got to return it,” she sighs, seeing the H xx next to with love:

“Oh, Georgia, don’t be a spoil sport, just see what it is!” Her mum insists.

“No, he’ll want it back. I’m sure it cost him an arm and a leg and I don’t want it,” she places it on the floor beside the sofa and gets up to find a much smaller box in the signature Tiffany blue with silky white ribbon. Love, Mum & Dad.

Inside is a silver charm bracelet with her initials engraved on one side and the “Return to Tiffany’s” insignia on the other. “I love it!” She smiles and kisses her mum’s cheek as she clasps it on to her wrist. She plans to look up what charms she’d like to add online tonight before bed.

The rest of the morning goes well, and just as they’re straightening up the floor from discarded bows and wrapping paper, Ella bursts in with boyfriend number two hundred and twelve (approximately). Georgia tries to remember his name. With her siblings often gone at university, she’s left out of the loop quite a bit on what they’re doing with their love lives. She doesn’t recognize the bloke - he’s got an earring in one ear and is wearing a blue peacoat. Hmm.

“Mum, you remember Andrew?” She smiles and their mother of course hugs this Andrew guy and makes him feel welcome in their home.

“Happy Christmas!” Andrew says. Definitely Welsh. Georgia hates a Welsh accent. Ella has brought gifts for Georgia and Ben - a beanie from OBEY for Ben and a print of Da Vinci’s Vetruvian Man for Georgia - a bit of an odd choice, which is evident in everyone’s querying raised eyebrows. But Georgia smiles and thanks her. She assumes it was on sale in the university book store, otherwise Georgia probably wouldn’t have received any gift at all. Georgia feels like she’s going to upset her sister when she hands over her gift to her big sister - a leather bound copy of Little Women, her favorite.

“Oh my God, I love it!” She runs her hands over the binding of the book and flips through its freshly unturned pages. “I’m putting this on display in my flat,” she decides aloud. Ben gives her a scarf made of mohair, which she politely tries on but has to take off quickly, as mohair is quite scratchy and uncomfortable. It’s Ella’s favorite color though - a pretty pale lavender. She once dyed her hair in that color, but it cost her an internship at some finance office, so she changed it back straight away.

They have breakfast - sausage and eggs and an apple butter cake that their mum has made for years on Christmas specially, and then they all set about getting ready for the rest of their day to be spent at Uncle Peter’s. Ella’s already dressed and raring to go, so Georgia gets first shower. The hot water can be a bit spotty in this weather, so she’s courteous and makes it quick despite that she wants to use her new Philosophy soaps that came in her stocking from Santa.

She hums as she pads back down the hall to her room and nearly has a stroke when she sees Harry sat atop her unmade bed, holding the Chanel box on his lap. She clutches the folds of her terry robe together tighter.

“What are you doing here?” The ache in her chest had dulled from the joy of Christmas morning but was now sharper than before - like a knife.

“I came to make sure you got my present,” he looks tired, pitiful almost.

“You can bring that with you on your way out. I’ve got to get dressed for my Uncle’s,” she retorts. She looks around in her closet for her christmas dress she got on sale over the summer from Ted Baker.

“Georgia, come on, you… you’ve got to listen to me, just for five seconds,” he pleads from behind her. She can feel his eyes burning in the back of her head. Where the fuck is my dress?

“I don’t have to listen to you, Harold. We’re not together anymore. We agreed to be friends. Friends have fights sometimes. You have to like, give me space, let me process this whole… part of you that I haven’t really gotten a chance to figure out yet,” she sighs. “I need to get dressed. You’re going to Nick’s, and I’m going to my uncle’s and we’ll figure this all out another time. Maybe when you’re… not famous,” she can’t believe she’s said it.

“Is that what this is about? You don’t want to talk to me because you think that like, X Factor has gone to my head? Listen, like, I don’t think anything is going to come of One Direction. Like, we might record an album or summat but we’re never going to like… become like, Justin Bieber…” He’s stumbling. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”

Too late, she thinks. But it isn’t that she’s afraid of his celebrity status. She’s afraid he’s going to change. He’s already changed. She’s happy for him, that he is finding love with Nick Grimshaw. But a normal ex boyfriend would leave her alone.

“Harry, you’re seeing someone else, and it’s fine, I just can’t see you right now. Just give me some time.”

“I was going to invite you to our New Year’s party, but…” he pauses. “I figured you’d rather not,” it seems as though he’s finally caught on. “I still care about you. Can I write you?” He stands from the bed, but puts the box back on the duvet.

“You can if you take that with you,” she chuckles.

“I guess you won’t get any letters then,” he shrugs, completely serious.

“Harry, you know I’m not comfortable with gifts…”

“I got it for you. You’re my best friend. I know this is a bad time, probably our worst together, but I want you to have it. I like spoiling you. I got Gemma a Ford Fiesta, so you’re not that special,” he laughs, and she joins him.

“Fine. Thank you,” she smiles sadly at him. The ache in her chest has dulled again.

“Happy Christmas,” he says, and before she realizes what’s happening, he walks over to her and wraps his long arms around her and holds her still-slightly damp from the shower body to his, and kisses her forehead. “Love you,” he mumbles and turns to leave. Hearing him say it doesn’t kill her like she thought it might.

She abandons trying to find her dress and instead peruses through her collection of skirts, finally deciding on a black mini wrap skirt and a plum colored cable knit jumper. She lays them on her bed and begins rolling up her black opaque tights, and mulls over which shoes to pair with her ensemble and which coat and which hat… she smiles, for five minutes she’s thought only of herself, and Christmas.

—

At Uncle Peter’s, things are a bit hectic, which is why for the past seventeen years, the Wright family has avoided gathering there, and instead having their friends over. Georgia sends a quick text off to Ruby, wishing her a happy Christmas. Ruby informs her of an impromptu party that will be going on that night at her place. Georgia says she’ll try to make it.

There are small children, more like toddlers, mucking about everywhere and narrowly avoiding breaking things by a thin millimeter. Georgia takes to the mulled wine and eggnog, and by the time supper is served at half four, she’s well and truly drunk. Her Aunt Millie (Peter’s wife) asks her how her studies are going and how her friends are, and how Harry is.

“He’s great,” she rolls her eyes. “He’s got a boyfriend,” she continues. She feels Ella’s hand on her thigh and she clamps her lips shut.

The rest of Christmas goes by smoothly. Aunt Millie got her a pajama set from Juicy Couture which she plans to spend the next week in. They all pile back into her dad’s SUV and Ella and Andrew get into Andrew’s car, and soon enough they’re back home by the fire and deciding between Cluedo and watching A Christmas Story.

“Let’s watch Love, Actually!” Georgia pleads. They’ve all seen the film a thousand times. It’s her favorite though. Her parents oblige her and pop it in the Blu-Ray and by the end of the movie, Ben and Ella and Andrew have gone up to bed, and her dad’s asleep in the recliner but Georgia and her good old mum are sat side by side under the fluffy blanket, watching everyone greet their loved ones at the air port and Georgia feels fresh tears on her cheeks. She dreamt of that happening when Harry came home finally from X Factor. She dreamt he’d walk through the arrivals gate and she’d leap into his arms and tell him how much she missed him and how proud she was and he’d kiss her and apologize for telling her that he just wanted to be friends. Nick Grimshaw would’ve been a dull afterthought.

“Honey, I know it might not seem like it now, but you’ll be okay,” her mum pats her knee.

“I love him so much,” she croaks out in response. “Why doesn’t he love me back?” Which only makes her cry harder. Her mum sniffles and holds her daughter to her, smoothing her hair.

“He does, sweetheart. These things take time,” she advises.

 

12.30.11

She’s about ready to kill herself. She needs to get out of this house and she needs to figure out what the hell she’s doing for New Years, and she needs to open the Chanel box from Harry. But every time she makes a move to do it, she promises herself she just needs another day or two. She knows opening that box will open up another can of emotions.

She hears her mum and dad shuffle out of the house on their way to work. Ben and Ella went back to school two days after Christmas and so it’s just been mum and dad and Georgia, and the leftovers from Boxing Day. Anne came by the house to gossip about the Grimshaws but Georgia politely excused herself to her room where she looked up Harry’s name on Tumblr and saw photos of Harry and Nick shopping in Manchester which made her positively sick to her stomach. Harry texted once to ask how Christmas went and she returned the sentiment and informed her he was back in London.

She pulls on a pair of black skinny jeans and a cream knit jumper, grabs her down-filled parka from Woolrich and heads out the door. She’s not sure where she’s headed. Soon she finds herself at the high school. She reminisces on playing football on the practice with her friends one summer night, getting in trouble smoking a spliff by the French teacher. She smiles, thinking how she gave Harry a tour when she first started classes here when she was eleven. Now, she goes to the sixth form at HCCS, and she thinks about how Harry gave her that tour before he left for X Factor.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket - Lucy, back from the Bahamas! Georgia hasn’t talked to many of her friends save for an odd text here or there. She wonders when she’ll hear from Oxford on her application to their medical school. She’s started to regret her emphasis on surgery. What if they reject her because she doesn’t have the necessary work experience in a doctor’s office? She worked for Dr. Berg, a psychiatrist in Manchester. She really enjoyed the quirky patients and listening about their problems from Dr. Berg. She signed a confidentiality agreement. Just thinking about it makes her think of Harry - if the press calls her, will she have to sign one of those from Harry’s record label?

She walks home, admiring the scenery of Northern England around her. Once back home, she turns on the kettle and pops in Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason. She had always found Bridget to be a bit annoying and self-serving. In any event, it’s entertaining to see Renee Zellweger so fat.

At half four, her mum arrives home with soup from the local shop and fresh rolls. They each butter one and dip it in the broth.

“What’d you do today? Your cheeks are rosy,” her mum smiles.

“Went for a walk to the high school,” she replies. “Bit cold, though.” They both chuckle. “When do you think Oxford will send their letters?”

“Soon, sweet pea. Didn’t they say end of January latest?” Georgia nods. “Even if you don’t get in, your dad and I will be very proud nonetheless,” she pats Georgia’s hand.

 

1.1.12

I’m going to vomit. Georgia shoots up out of bed and makes a dash for the bathroom, and retches until she’s a shaking mess on the floor. She turns the hot water on for a shower and practically rolls into the bath, letting the heat soothe her aching muscles. Clearly, all of that champagne and vodka last night was a poor decision.

But even though she’s hating her life, she’s cheering on the inside - she got into Oxford. The letter came in the post yesterday morning, and she called all of her friends, even Harry, who begged her to come to London to celebrate, but she knew the trains would be awful and she didn’t want to ruin her good mood with Nick Grimshaw’s presence, so she kindly declined but told him she’d visit in the new year. She didn’t fucking care for one second about him, and she was happy.


	3. Part Three

02.03.12

The train from Manchester to Kings Cross takes two and a half hours, so Georgia’s in London by noon and she takes the tube from Kings Cross to the Sloane Square station, where Harry is meant to be waiting for her. She fiddles the whole twenty minutes on the train.

She sees him the second she steps off the train with her weekend bag slung over her shoulder and her phone in the other hand.

“Harry!” She smiles and walks over to him. He hugs her briefly. And then she realizes he’s looking for someone else.

“Oh, Nick!” He waves him over and smiles.

“Hiya,” Nick looks down at Georgia, he’s a good head and a half taller than her, which she hates. “I’m Nick,” he extends his hand.

“Georgia,” she replies and shakes his hand.

“Congrats on Oxford,” he smiles, and he’s genuine. Harry must not have told him about their history.

“Thank you,” she smiles. Every time someone congratulates her it’s like a ray of light from God himself warming her from the inside out.

“She’s brilliant, this one,” Harry squeezes her shoulders. “Come on, car’s out on the road,” he leads the three of them out of the station and to his Range Rover, a birthday gift to himself. She reminds herself of his birthday. Reminds herself she wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the persistent emails and texts he sent her while he was touring the UK and doing promo in the US for the past few weeks.

“We’re going to Shoreditch House tonight, that cool?” Harry asks her from his post in the driver seat. She has taken the bitch seat, as she and her friends call it, so there’s no awkward tension between she and Nick.

“Fine with me,” she shrugs. She’s packed two different ensembles for the night and she immediately starts googling Shoreditch celebrities to gauge what her ensemble should look like.

“Pix said she’s coming,” Nick tells Harry, clearly purposely not using whoever Pix’s full name so that Georgia has to wonder who the fuck they’re talking about. She finds herself trying not to care.

They pull up in front of a rather posh looking building and Nick unbuckles his safety belt.

“See you tonight,” he smiles and climbs out, waves to Georgia. She decides instead of getting out of the car, she’ll just climb over the black leather seats, and who gives a shit if there’s dirt on her Acne ankle boots that might get on his precious new car?

“Graceful,” Harry laughs as they pull away. She shrugs, clearly copping an attitude.

“Lunch then?” Harry suggests.

“Nick could have come to lunch,” she replies, and realizes she sounds like a petulant child.

“He hasn’t showered yet today, I was just dropping him off… we’ll see him later and you can draw your judgements then,” he replies, but he’s joking, but she’s still angry.

“What’s it like to be almost legal?” She changes the subject.

“Weird. Never thought I’d be like legal and then have to actually deal with like, not being able to drink in other countries because I have to uphold the band’s reputation,” he laughs. “We’re going to the US for the tour at the end of the month for two months,” he adds.

“That’s exciting,” she replies. They’re in the car a few more minutes and then they arrive at a regal looking building - Harry’s apartment complex. It’s very artsy and well-decorated. He parks the car and grabs my bag from the boot and we head inside.

“We can leave your bag and then go to Covent Garden?” Harry suggests.

“Sure, great,” she replies. For a second she forgets that Harry has a roommate.

“That you, Haz?” Someone calls from the kitchen. She jumps and Harry laughs and then there’s Louis Tomlinson in a pair of joggers and a t-shirt and bare feet.

“This is Georgia, Lou,” he gestures and Louis smiles and walks over to greet her. They shake hands, like business associates.

“Weren’t you supposed to be on the train to Doncaster by now?” Harry checks the clock on his phone.

“Yeah mum got held up with m’sister, so told me to take a later train…” Harry nods.

“You’ll stay in my room since I’ll probably be at Nick’s tonight, is that cool?” Harry asks Georgia once Louis has retreated to watching TV in the living area.

“Fine with me,” she replies. Bit strange to invite your so-called best mate out to visit and then to stay at your boyfriend’s instead of with her… whatever, she shrugs it off. In ten minutes they’re on their way out the door and headed for lunch and shopping in Covent Garden.

02.05.12

 

She woke up the night after having drinks with Pix (Geldof) and Nick and Harry to an empty, very large, very posh flat. She showered and made a cup of tea and watched Come Dine with Me for an hour. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and a puffy vest from J.Crew, and finally laced up her converse. Her stomach rumbled around half eleven and she was disappointed to find no food in either the refrigerator or the pantry. She didn’t want to call Harry seeming like the nagging ex girlfriend. Apparently, Harry had informed Nick of their prior relationship, and Nick was trying very hard to be the bigger person. So, she tried harder.

Nick and Harry left first, and she and Pix stayed up all night dancing, and then she remembered getting into the cab with Pix and crying that Harry was fucking with her head, and the cab had dropped Georgia off first at Harry’s flat and luckily she remembered Harry giving her the key, or she’d have slept in the lobby. She doesn’t want to call Harry because then Nick will have won. She’ll have acknowledged she knows where Harry is - with Nick, naked in Primrose Hill.

So, she decides to go for a walk. She grabs her bag and Harry’s key and her phone, and just as she’s about to leave, the door opens and there’s Harry in a different shirt from the night before but the same jeans and brogues.

“Morning,” he smiles at her.

“Morning,” she replies. “I was just going to eat, as you’ve got no food here,” she smiles.

“Sorry, it’s cause we just got back… let me shower up and I’ll come with,” he looks fucking exhausted though, like he just wanted to come home and go to sleep. He probably stopped off on his way home to get a bloody bagel.

“You look tired. I’ll bring something back?” He agrees, and she takes his car and finds a little Chinese place and gets them quite a spread and brings it back, and Harry’s dead asleep in his bed, and she eats alone on the sofa, watching Finding Nemo followed by V for Vendetta. Around five, she goes to wake Harry. He grumbles and sits up, wipes the sleep from his eyes

“I’m sorry I’ve been a shit host,” he sighs. She pats his bare shoulder.

“S’alright. I’m going to take the tube back to Kings Cross and head home tonight though…” Harry looks mortified by this suggestion.

“No, please don’t leave… shit! I can’t believe I’m driving you away like this. I’m probably not going to see you for like three months and I’ve not even spent three bloody seconds with you,” he feels awful, she can tell. So, she stays with him that night, they get sushi and go to the cinema and see Just Go With It and paparazzi are waiting for them in the car park.

Then comes the nondisclosure.

 

—

 

So, now, she’s sat on the train on the way back to London after ripping up the nondisclosure in Harry’s face and promising to tell The Guardian everything about his relationship with Nick Grimshaw. Harry actually cries, and so she apologizes for taking that kind of low blow, and then she grabs her weekender bag and leaves.

She feels pretty awful about it. It’s three in the morning and she’s almost back to Manchester but getting from Manchester will be tricky at this time. She doesn’t want to call Ella. She’s probably drunk anyway, or fucking Andrew. She debates paying a cabbie. That would cost her a small fortune. Harry keeps calling her every ten minutes. He e-mails her a PDF of the NDA and writes Please sign .xx

She’d do it if she had a laptop with her but she doesn’t.

1.29.13

 

She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of her new iPhone rattling across her desk. Shit, fell asleep again. She straightens herself up and peers at the screen - Unknown is calling her at this ungodly hour. She lets it go to voicemail and stands up, stretches, practicing her newest yoga pose.

The phone buzzes once to let her know whoever her unknown caller was has now left her a voice message. She presses the play button and puts the phone to her ear as she collects her notes from Statistics & Probability, one of her “prelim” courses as a first year student in the Experimental Psychology department. 

 

“Hi, it’s Harry. I know we haven’t talked much in a while, but it’s my birthday on Saturday and I know you’re at Oxford, so I thought you might like a night out in London… call me back if you’re interested. Miss you,” he says and hangs up. Where in the bloody hell is he calling from?

Then the phone rings again and she answers.

“Harry?” She sounds nervous even to her own ears.

“Hey, George,” he replies. “I’ve just left you a message but I forgot to leave you my number, for some reason my number comes through as blocked and I tried to get Paul to call Virgin to fix it but he’s not having it…”

“It’s ok. I listened to your message. When’s your party?”

“Erm, well, I think Thursday. So like, I turn nineteen there, you know?”

“Sounds good. Where’s it going to be?” She grabs her pen.

“You’ll actually come?” He sounds shocked.

“Sure, I’d like to see you. Can I bring friends?”

“Of course, of course…” He laughs lightly. “It’s at Bodega Negra. Google it. I’ve just got home, my mum’s going to kill me because these girls are standing outside in the freezing cold and screaming my name,” he sighs.

“Okay. See you Thursday night,” she replies and hangs up.

She doesn’t think about the fact that it was entirely her fault that Anne, Robin, Gemma and Harry were left off the invitation list for her family’s Christmas celebration. Harry still cares enough to invite her to his birthday. They haven’t spoken much. She did eventually send him his non disclosure. She spent her last months of sixth form fucking off with her friends and then spent the summer working for Camp Beaumont, a children’s camp company. She lived in Newcastle at the residential camp and taught children how to swim and how to shoot an arrow amongst other things. She also got to assist in the camp medical station, which looked good for Oxford. She hardly had cell phone reception, but she kept her legs wide open for reception from another camp counselor named Christian.

 

02.01.13

 

She can’t remember what happened after they left Groucho, but she’s naked and in bed next to Harry, who appears to be naked from the waist up… oh wait, definitely completely naked, and half-hard. She scolds herself for lifting the duvet. Where’s Nick? She hopes she didn’t do something to… fuck things up with them. Work! He’s at work. He said he had to work in the morning. She remembers him greeting her at Bodega Negra, completely wasted, and laughing that he wasn’t going to get any sleep and he’d have to be at the studio at six in the morning.

She sits up and is surprised by her lack of nausea or migraine. Perhaps she was smart and chugged a bottle of water… oh, there’s the evidence on the nightstand. Two empty bottles of Evian. Her bladder needs relief and so she gets up, trying not to cause a stir in Harry’s bed, and tiptoes to the loo. Once she emerges after finger-combing through her hair and splashing cold water on her face, she crawls back into bed next to Harry.

What do I do? I can’t go back to sleep. It’s 9:15. I never sleep this late. Thank God I don’t have class today. What if we had sex? That would explain why I woke up in a good mood.

 

She looks around for any sign of a used condom and then - well, there’s a condom packet on Harry’s pillow above his head. No condom. Fucking hell.

She lies on her back for another half hour, processing having drunken sex with Harry. She does feel stretched… down there. Harry’s the biggest she’s had, well, because she’s only ever slept with one other guy.

Harry rustles around beside her.

“Morning,” he grins. “I could feel your heart pounding over here,” he laughs a little.

“Oh shut up, Harold,” she rolls her eyes. “What happened?”

“We did molly at Groucho and then Nick went to work and you and I came back here,” he starts. “And well, empty condom packet… missing condom… you’d best check it’s not still up there,” he laughs and she smacks his shoulder.

“You’re okay with cheating on Grimmy?”

“It’s not cheating, you weirdo,” Harry rolls his eyes. “We have an open relationship.”

Ah. Isn’t that fun.

“Oh,” she replies.

“Let’s have a cup of tea,” he suggests and rolls out of bed. She can’t help but stare at the length between his thighs. “Like what you see?” He smirks and pulls on a pair of briefs and heads out of the bedroom.

She slips out from under the covers and pulls on her knickers and bra and flips through Harry’s top drawer to find a t-shirt. It hangs to the middle of her thigh, like all of his shirts always have. Doesn’t help he’s a few inches taller than last time she saw him.

“Grimmy said he’s thrown up in the studio,” Harry cracks up. The kettle boils and he pours two mugs - plain, white ceramic - and passes her the milk and sugar.

“I can’t believe we had sex,” she blurts out. Harry shrugs.

“I think about you alot, like, when I’m alone,” he smirks. Heat rises to her cheeks. She remembers a bit about their time together, too. Scratch marks on his back and his hand covering her mouth as she moaned his name over, and over…

“Stop eye-fucking me, will you?” She rolls her eyes and sips her tea.

“I haven’t had sex with anyone in weeks,” he pouts. “Grimmy’s been… moody.” Eek.

“Who’s on top?” She asks.

“Me, generally.” He’s so nonchalant she thinks the conversation didn’t actually happen. “I’ve tried erm, the other way, and I just can’t quite… enjoy it like Nick does.” She nods as if she understands. Which, she kind of does. Who wants a penis in their arse?

“So… should I go then? You probably want to like, mend whatever it is that’s going on with your erm, man…” She mumbles.

“No, no. Stay. We haven’t seen each other in what, a year? I missed your entire 2012…”

“I saw you on Perez Hilton a few times and in The Daily Mail…”

“Well, my mum mentioned you worked at a summer camp in Newcastle,” he starts. “She said they had a sending-off party for you when your parents drove you to Oxford…”

“Those are the boring bits,” she laughs. “I’ve done very well in my courses. I’m doing experimental psychology instead of surgery now,” she blushes. “Shaky hands.”

“So you can psychoanalyze me and tell me whether I’m just experimenting sexually with Nick or if I’m actually bisexual? Or is it asexual?”

“Asexual would mean you had no interest in boys or girls.” She corrects.

“Hmm. I like both. I’m open-minded. I’ve only ever loved two people in my life, and one’s a girl and one’s a boy,” this causes Georgia to blush even more.

“I’ve only ever loved you,” she shrugs. “I’ve kissed girls and stuff, but… no sparks.”

They think on it for a moment.

“Nick came on to me so hard at first. He loved the idea of me - pop star, pretty attractive, teenager - it was like a fantasy for him. We got attached to each other, and we genuinely enjoy each other’s company… it’s so difficult to figure out,” he pouts. “I think he’s bored of me. Said he’s been seeing a stylist.” Both Harry and Georgia grimace at that.

“Let’s not talk about Nick. I want to show you around at school,” she smiles brightly. “You can meet my friends at Christ Church.”

“Great,” Harry brightens.

—

They’re in her dormitory by half past two. He flips through her texts and admires her very organized closet. She shows him the dining hall - the same that was used in Harry Potter.

“This is amazing,” Harry looked around. “This place is probably the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to.” They stroll around the quad and she shows him the library. They go into town for a pint, and she finds a group of her friends from her dormitory at a table, and they sit with them.

“What’s it like being a pop star?” Sara asks rather pointedly.

“I don’t know. Nothing really to compare it to.” Harry shrugs. Georgia is, for the first time, not sure if she’s more embarrassed by her friends or by Harry’s superiority complex. She’s never really seen him act like this. She assumes it’s nerves. Or maybe he’s envious that she has this completely normal life with her friends at uni and he can’t even have a stable relationship because he’s always bloody gone.

—

They have dinner in the dining hall - pot roast and potatoes with string beans and crumb cake for dessert. Georgia thinks Harry’s going to leave, but she’s not sure how to ask him without making it seem like she’s kicking him out.

“Shall we go back to mine then?” Harry looks at her expectantly. He wants… her… to come home with him.

“Oh, well, I thought you had plans…” She stumbles over her words.

“Nope. Just you, me and a bottle of pinot and maybe Nigella? Great British Bake-off? I’ve recorded it…”

“I already saw it,” she blurts. “I’ve… I’ve got a lot of studying to do. You should go up north and see your mum. Say hi to her for me, yeah?” Georgia wants him gone. She doesn’t want to get attached. She’s got work to do. She has her least favorite literature class on Monday morning. She has to read, understand what she’s talking about with that professor. She can’t be clear-headed with Harry looming over her.

“Oh. Right. Well, I’ll call you then. I’ll come see you. I’m here in London for a bit… but then I’ll be gone like, from March until August… so, I want to see you.” She doesn’t understand. He’s toying with her again. He’s always trying to see “what’s out there.” He counts her as an option. But she knows she can’t just be an option when there is no competition in her mind when it comes to Harry.

“See you,” she waves.

“Laters,” he waves back as he retreats out of the dining hall.


	4. Part Four

03.15.13

 

Spring is still quite a bit aways, but second term has just ended and Georgia could not be happier to spend a month at home with her family. Ben and Ella will be graduating in June. Her mum is planning the party of the century for them. And, above all, she can’t wait to introduce her first real boyfriend since Harry to her parents.

 

She met him at the pub down the road from Christ Church. He’s studying Linguistics. He’s probably about the smartest person she’s ever met. He speaks French, Spanish, German and Italian pretty much fluently. He can write in Russian. He explores cultural ideologies she’s never heard of. She learns something new every day. He’s technically an American - his parents are in the CIA and his sister works for BBC America and his brother works for the Prime Minister. He shops at Harrod’s and drinks Macallan scotch on the rocks before bed, which she likes, because it tastes nice when they kiss. He’s like a modern day Winston Churchill.

 

They study in the library together. He finds her endlessly fascinating because she knows more about the human mind than he does. She eyes the Chanel box under her bed every time he comes into the room, hoping he doesn’t ask where she got it. He knows she had a modest upbringing, even if she did live in a quaint country cottage instead of like, a row house like some really destitute families.

 

She knows it’ll worry her mum if she doesn’t open the box. Some days, she wants to. But it’s like Pandora’s box - she’d be unleashing a well capped lid of emotions and she’s not ready to go there.

 

05.07.13

 

She’s not expecting to see Harry, which is what throws her off completely. He told her August. She distinctly remembers that conversation. “I’ll be away from March to August,” the words are clear in her head, just like the springtime sky. So, when she finds herself her usual table in the library and sets about reading her chapters for Cognitive Neuroscience. Her highlighter was poised above the crisp page and she was planning to visit her tutor in an hour with questions. And then someone sat opposite her at the table, and she was about to tell them politely that someone would be sitting there, but then when she looked up, Harry Styles was staring her in the face.

 

“What on earth…?” She was stunned speechless.

 

“Hello to you too, Georgia Leigh,” he smiles. “I’m back for a night. Just performed in Stockholm. So cool,” he muses. She can see his swallow tattoos poking up through the collar of his shirt.

“Nice tattoos,” she points.

 

“Thanks. Got a butterfly on my stomach now, too.” He laughs. “Everyone thinks I’m going to come out of the closet. Like that’s ever going to be allowed to happen. 21st Century my arse!”

 

“Shh, Harry! This is a library!” She scolds.

 

“Sorry, sorry. What’re you reading?”

 

“Cognitive Neuroscience. I’ve got a meeting with my tutor in an hour…”

 

“I’ll meet you after then, for dinner? I had reservations made a while ago at this place in London, think you’ll really like it. I’ve been dying to see you. You haven’t returned many of my texts, Georgia…”

 

“I’ve been seeing someone, Harry. For like, three months. It’s quite serious. I have dinner plans with him tonight,” she replies.

 

“Have you now?” Harry mulls this over. “So you’ve moved on from me then?” He has a wicked glimmer in his eye.

 

“For the moment, yes.” She can’t lie to him. Sure, she’s been infatuated with Finlay for the past three months. The sex is great, the company is great, his lavish gifts are even better - YSL lipstick, Prada stilettos and the like.

 

“Who is he?”

“I met him down the pub. He’s studying linguistics. Speaks like five languages,” she shrugs. She loves to brag. “He’s an American though.”

 

“You’re joking,” Harry’s eyes widen. “You’re turning me down for a night in London for an American?”

 

“I think she might be,” someone spoke from behind them. And there was Finlay, looking like a cross between smug and genuinely pissed that this guy was hitting on his girl.

 

“Is this the guy?”

“Hey, Fin…”

 

“Hi, Georgia,” he smiles down at her. “I was just going to grab a cup of coffee, care to join?” Harry looks positively stricken. “Oh, sorry. I’m Fin, Georgia’s boyfriend,” he extends his hand to Harry.

 

“Harry, Georgia’s ex-boyfriend.” He practically growls as he stands to greet Fin. Great.

 

“Well, we’d best be off, then. It was good seeing you, Harry. I’ll see you at the graduation parties at home?” She asks.

 

“Probably not. I’ll be in Mexico,” he replies. “See you later.” He waves and walks away. She can hardly believe what had just happened.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” she smiles at Fin. He kisses the tip of her nose and they walk down High Street to the cafe and she gets a chai and he gets a mocha and she explains on the way that yes, she dated Harry Styles when she was fifteen, sixteen and seventeen and he was her first love, but then he went off and became like, who he is today, which is not someone she’s sure she really likes. Fin sympathizes. His ex-girlfriend is a ballerina for the New York City Ballet.

 

She sits back down at her table at the library and resumes her studies. She sees three text messages from Harry on her phone screen but decides it would be best if she finished her work before trying to salvage that situation. Why she still cares after all this time, even she doesn’t know.

 

05.10.13

 

He finds her again on her way to her yoga class on Merton Field.

“Harry, come on, this is ridiculous…”

“I just wanted to see you before I flew back out for Denmark,” he look sheepish. “Your boyfriend seems nice. I hope you’re happy.” She knows there’s limited truth in this statement.

“Thanks,” she smiles. “I never got to ask you how Nick is?”

“We’re seeing other people at the moment.” He seems sad by this.

“Are you okay with that?”

“When I say ‘we’re’ I mean he is seeing someone else, and I haven’t spoken to him in three weeks,” he bites his lip.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” It dawns on her that she might be his rebound attempt. “But I’m not like, here for you to rebound with.”

“I’ve grasped that, thanks. I didn’t come to rebound. I came because you’re my best friend and I love you.”

“I love you, Harry, I really do. But… you’re not the same boy that used to take care of me when I was sick or who brought me flowers on Valentine’s Day…”

“I am that same guy. I have a different job. I’m a bit more popular in like, the global sense,” he laughs a little. “I keep thinking I’m going to lose you. You don’t call me. I always initiate conversations with you, but you only reciprocate half the time… if that!”

“I’ll call you on my last day of term, I promise. I’ll call you and we’ll talk about everything.”

“Okay,” he seems unconvinced.

 

06.29.13

 

The phone rings four times, and then a very sleepy, groggy Harry answers.

“Lo?”

“It’s me,” she replies. She’s been crying for hours, and she almost forgot that she was supposed to call Harry - how could she remember in the midst of packing up her room and her things. It started when she went to the pub last night to surprise Finlay. She had told him she was too tired to go. And someone said they’d seen him go into the loo, so she thought she’d surprise him outside the door and they could fuck in one of the stalls - a fantasy of theirs, since they’d met in the pub. But then, he beat her to it - coming out of the loo with an Indian girl named Aria, also a Linguistics student. He tried to explain… but what was there to explain? He had a hickey blossoming on his neck. So she went back home, and opened the Chanel box, because she knew it would hurt just a bit more, and she could revel in it. “The bag is beautiful, Harry. Really. My new favorite thing,” she starts to cry again.

 

“Georgia? What’s the matter? Why are you crying?” He sounds frantic.

“He cheated on me,” she blubbers. “He cheated on me and I knew that opening the box from Christmas was only going to hurt worse and I did it anyway…” She cries.

“What in the…” He pauses.

“It’s the last day of term. I promised I’d call, remember?” She sniffles.

“Good job,” he laughs. “Don’t cry, please. I feel terrible I can’t do anything. I’m in Florida. It’s fucking scorching. The air conditioner on the bus wasn’t working earlier…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you. What time is it there? It’s half nine here…”

“It’s…. well it’s 4:30 in the morning it looks like,” he chuckles. “You don’t need that guy. He’s a right smug prick,” he soothes. His voice has always calmed her down. She thinks of his neck and the tendons in it, his strong jaw. Mm.

“I miss you,” she replies. “A real lot. Like, if you showed up at my doorstep right now, you’d get tackled,” she tells the honest truth. “Like rugby tackled.”

“I’m buying a plane ticket home, then, right now,” she can hear his smile.

“No, don’t do that. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me talk to some people, I’ll call you right back. Promise.”

She sits atop her bare mattress and looks at the beautiful Chanel bag - black quilted lambskin and the gold C’s on the clasp, the gold chain wrapping around the strap. The bag probably cost him 5,000 quid.

In ten minutes, her parents arrive and help her load her belongings into the boot of their car. In the midst of this, Harry calls.

“So, Gemma’s coming to visit for like, two weeks at the end of July, beginning of August. Paul thinks they can manage hosting you as well then, since we’ve had to get hotel rooms for her anyway…”

“What? You’re kidding…”

“Not kidding at all. I take my lady friends very seriously in their times of need.” She smiles.

“Fine then. I’ll get myself a plane ticket…”

“Oh, shut it. Paul’s emailing you your flight information now. You and Gemma will leave from Heathrow together and you’ll fly into… where is it, Paul?” She hears a distant yell. “Seattle!”

“And how long’s that flight?”

“Erm, not sure. Probably like ten hours.”

“Oi! That’s a bloody voyage!” They both laugh.

“I’ll see you on 28th July then,” he says. “Miss you.”

“Miss you, too,” she coos back at him. Her parents look at her expectantly.

“Harry’s flying me out to Seattle!” She grins. They look completely dumbfounded, but also exhausted, as they’ve been busy planning and preparing for the twins’ party.

 

07.16.13

 

“Still miss me?” Harry smiles at her through the computer screen. She reaches out and touches his face, hoping her web camera doesn’t pick up on it.

“A little,” she shrugs. They talk every day, at least an hour. Usually one is waking the other up, or interrupting the other in the midst of something, but they don’t mind. Georgia never knew she could be so attached to someone 6,000 miles away. Or is it 3,000 today? Today is one of his off days, they’re in Chicago, the windy city, so she hears.

“Kanye West is from Chicago,” Harry informs her. “He lives in LA though.”

“Did you see him on Keeping Up with the Kardashians?” She laughs. Harry pouts.

“I only watched that show once and I told you that in confidentiality!” He crosses his arms.

“Any word from Grimmy?” She asks.

“None.” He sighs. “Pix and I have talked a few times. He’s busy, she says. He’s not even dating anyone. He just doesn’t want me, anymore, I guess.”

“Familiar with that feeling,” she smiles. She doesn’t mean it to sting, but Harry winces.

“I’ve always loved you, G,” he stares her straight in the eye. “We both needed to… experience the world for ourselves. But I always cared.”

“I know.” She does know this. It took her some time to understand, but she finally is at peace with the fact that maybe she and Harry will never be the same as they once were.

“Skinny Love,” Harry states. She smiles at that. It is.


	5. Part Five

07.28.13

“We’re beginning our descent in Seattle, the weather is 76 degrees and partly cloudy… a bit humid today, but nothing you Londoners aren’t used to!” Everyone lets out a chuckle. Ten hours on this plane would’ve been unbearable if it weren’t for Gemma keeping her company.

“What do you think he’s going to do when he sees you?” Gemma smirks. 

“Oi, shut it. He’ll say hi and we’ll probably be getting mobbed by his bloody idiot fans,” both girls laugh. 

“I’m just excited to see Vegas,” Gemma admits. Georgia keeps to herself that she’s just excited to see Harry.

The plane hits the tarmac and Georgia lets out the breath she was holding during the final few seconds of descent. Oddly enough, she is most nervous when the plane is closest to the ground.

They idle for a few minutes and finally pull into the gate. The girls stand and stretch and reach for their carry-on bags in the overhead compartment. Harry bought Georgia a Louis Vuitton tote and had it shipped to her as a surprise. There’d been no gift receipt with it, so she was forced to keep it. She didn’t have as many apprehensions about opening presents from Harry anymore.

No one on the plane seemed to recognize Gemma, and they’d have no way of knowing who Georgia was, which made sneaking around that much easier. There weren’t many kids except for a few toddlers in economy class. 

People began exiting the plane and Georgia’s heart rate sped up as she put one foot in front of the other behind Gemma, and before she knew it, they were in the airport, and there was no sign of Harry Styles anywhere.

“He’s probably sent Paul or security,” Gemma shrugs. “Can’t have the airport getting into a tizzy,” she chuckles. They walk towards baggage claim… and then there he is, leaning against a tall white column, long-sleeve henley shirt on and black skinny jeans. He looks inconspicuous. And then she pictures Love Actually - Hugh Grant coming through the arrivals gate and his assistant flinging herself at him. This is like that, she realizes. She doesn’t realize she’s stopped in her tracks, lost in Harry’s gaze, his emerald eyes boring into her blue.

“Well, you could cut this tension with a knife. Albeit, a thick one,” Gemma grumbles, snapping Georgia out of her trance. They both laugh and approach Harry tentatively. He opens his arms, and Georgia doesn’t care if the hug is meant for Gemma, she runs at him, and nearly knocks him over. He’s warm in her arms.

“I missed you,” he whispers into her ear, releasing her from his grip. “You look nice and tan,” he grins. He licks his lip, and she’s sure he’s going to kiss her. “Gem! Congrats on getting your degree!” He pulls his sister into a side-hug. He’s given her this trip as a gift for completing her education. Georgia wonders if Gemma thinks of her as intrusive.

“Let’s get your bags and get out of here before anyone recognizes me, yeah?” Harry suggests and both girls nod. Gemma’s giant black duffle comes through first, followed by Georgia’s Tumi suitcases. Harry slings Gemma’s bag over his shoulder and Gemma rolls one of Georgia’s bags and Georgia gets the other. She pulls her Ray Bans out of her LV tote in the event that someone does recognize Harry, she can at least deny the pictures are her. 

“Where are we staying?” Gemma asks.

“Oh, you can have my bunk on the bus. I’ll just sleep on the couch,” he laughs. “No, no. I got a room at The W. Or, well, Paul did.” Georgia’s never heard of a W, but Gemma looks pleased.

They make it to the elevator in the car park without issue. But, once on their way to the car. A very shrill scream pierces their ears and Gemma nearly jumps out of her skin. There is a pre-pubescent little girl with her iPhone practically sprinting at them.

“Shit,” Harry mutters. “You two walk ahead.” He whispers quickly and Gemma grabs Georgia’s hand and they’re walking. A bald guy pops out from between two black SUVs.

“Hey, Gem,” he waves. 

“Oh, hi Paul,” Gemma laughs. “Thought you were a pap. This is Georgia,” she gestures and Georgia waves.

“Nice to meet you,” he’s a genuine guy, far as Georgia can tell. “Hop in,” he opens the door of the boot in back of the car and places their luggage inside.

Gemma heads for the passenger side. 

“Your first time in the states?” Paul asks.

“Erm, no, we went on a family vacation to Disney World when I was seven,” Georgia replies, getting into the back seat. Paul heads over to where Harry is standing with the young fan and pulls him away gently. Harry waves goodbye to the little girl and her mum, who has joined her. 

He opens the door on the driver’s side of the car and sits on the leather seat and then slides all the way over so his thigh is touching Georgia’s and she thinks that they might start a fire in the back seat of this very nice car.

“Hi,” he smiles down at her, under his arm.

“Hi,” she blushes.

“You’re quiet today,” he murmurs to her. Paul starts to drive out of the garage.

“You’re like… real,” Georgia blushes at her poor choice of words. “I mean, like, 3D.” They both laugh.

“I am indeed,” he smiles. He licks his lips again. He’s undressing her with his eyes, a little smirk playing on his lips. He leans down and whispers in her ear, “If it helps, I’m thinking about you naked, too.” Her face ignites in a deep crimson blush. She smacks his arm.

Soon enough they’re out in the front of the hotel, and it doesn’t seem that anyone has any clue that the boys are staying there. 

“I’m shocked! No hordes of fans…” Gemma grins at them from the front.

“Well, I think the fans are under the impression we’re staying on the bus,” he shrugs. “Which, I think Zayn and Louis are, but Niall and Zayn are staying here, too.” It occurs to Georgia she’s only met Louis and that was right before their terrible fight before Harry turned eighteen.

“I’m excited to meet them all,” Georgia says to Harry.

“Believe me, they’re excited, too. Specially Niall. Made the mistake of showing him your Facebook,” he grins. “He likes blondes.”

Georgia smiles and shrugs. Harry knows there’s no competition.

They’re in the lobby in mere moments and in the lift seconds after that. Paul has already checked Gemma and Georgia into their shared room - two queen beds, and a nice view of Downtown Seattle. Georgia checks the bedside clock - 5 pm.

“You should go sightseeing now, since, like I can’t really… we’ll get you a car,” he suggests.

“We’re here to see you, idiot…”

“I know, but I’ve got to get to rehearsal in like ten minutes,” he frowns. “Come by after dinner and watch, will you?” He asks Georgia. She simply nods.

“I’m two doors down on the right,” Harry tells them.

“See you at the show!” Gemma calls after him.

“What does one wear in Seattle?”

“Beanies, I think,” Gemma replies and they both laugh.

An hour later they’ve both showered and changed into sundresses (sans beanie) and put on fresh make-up. The hotel concierge has made them dinner reservations at Canlis, supposedly the best restaurant in Seattle. 

“We’ll have a bottle of the Trimbach Reserve,” Gemma tells the waiter who eyes Georgia suspiciously but doesn’t ask for proof of age.

They opt for the chef’s tasting menu, despite that neither of them are foodies and they will probably end up not liking half of the shit they put in front of them.

\--

Two hours later, they’ve worked through three bottles of wine and are laughing their heads off as they drive to the Key Arena. They realize they’re probably late to see the openers, 5 Seconds of Summer.

“Do you think they do shots before the show?” Georgia asks Gemma.

“They have before. Not always,” Gemma laughs. “We can do them with them if you want. I know Harry likes his whiskey,” she winks.

They’re both positively stuffed but also definitely drunk. They find security and show their passes that Paul left them, and they’re ushered to the boys’ dressing room. It’s almost nine, the boys are due to be up on stage in a few minutes.

“The party’s here!” Gemma calls to the boys and Harry’s head perks up, and he smirks at them. Georgia knows her cheeks are warm from the sulfites in the wine.

“Looking toasty, Georgia,” he grins. “Guys, this is Georgia,” and four heads pop up from their iPhones to look her over. She’s suddenly very self-conscious in her sundress and booties. 

“Hi,” she waves.

“Hi!” They speak in unison. Harry beckons them over. They’re all so… put together. No blemishes, hair perfectly coiffed. Harry winds his hands round Georgia’s waist and pulls her into his lap.

“Can I have a taste?” He smirks at her cheeks. 

“Later,” she’s emboldened thanks to the alcohol.

“Oh, that so? Something for me to look forward to tonight?” She lowers her gaze to her feet hanging from Harry’s lap.

“Three minutes, guys!” Someone calls from the doorway. The boys stand and stretch.

“Good luck,” Georgia kisses Harry’s cheek.

\---

Gemma and Georgia watch from the pit in front of the stage. They’re given sweatshirts with One Direction’s emblem on them to hide their identity - which, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, works in concealing their identity. They dance the night away with each other, and eventually the effects of the wine wear away by the end of the show. Exhaustion takes over by the time the boys perform What Makes You Beautiful. They bow and head backstage. When the girls head for their security guard, though, he shakes his head and holds up a sole finger - one more.

Gemma sighs and they sit back on their seats and watch the stage, and then someone rolls out a piano.

“So, I’ve been working on this song for a bit, and I wanted to get everyone’s thoughts…” Harry’s there, walking towards the piano. “I’ve actually always liked this song. Want to hear it?” Everyone SCREAMS. It surprises Georgia his hair doesn’t blow back. “This is an oldie but a goodie. Rest in peace Ray Charles!” And he plays the first notes, and Georgia stomach nearly falls out her ass. ‘Been working on it’ - right. Not like he’s been singing this song to her since they were ten.

“Georgia, Georgia… the whole day through… just an old sweet song, keeps Georgia on my mind…” Gemma’s staring at Georgia dumbfounded. Never in a million years did she think Harry would EVER play this song to her in front of seventeen thousand people. “Other arms reach out to me, other eyes smile tenderly, still in peaceful dreams I see, the road leads back to you…” His voice is so perfect, she thinks, for this song. Everyone’s going ape shit. Georgia doesn’t realize she’s crying until she feels the hot, wet tears on her cheeks. It takes every bone in her body to not rush the stage and kiss him.

Once the song is over he stands and bows and the crew comes out and rolls the piano back and he follows them out. The security guard collects Georgia and Gemma.

Who serenades their ex girlfriend in front of 17,000 people?

She could see the boys were being rushed out through a back exit to their waiting SUV. 

“Gem, you go with them!” Harry pointed and then Georgia was running ahead of Gemma and past her security guard and even though they were in this awfully, dimly lit hallway behind the stage of this arena in Seattle, Washington - Georgia’s love for Harry Styles was bigger than the rest of the people around them, staring or smirking or judging or whatever, and she was in his arms and she felt like she was finally home when he pressed his lips to hers and she licked into his mouth and wound her fingers through his perfect thick brown hair.

Someone wolf-whistled, and they both laughed.

 

07.29.13

Harry woke up first and admired the sleeping form of the beautiful woman lying next to him in his hotel bed. They’d gone in their own SUV back to The W and he’d carried her across the threshold as if they’d just been married. With clear minds, they undressed each other slowly with first their eyes and then their hands and then they fell between the sheets and just like old times, she gripped his back like someone stranded out at sea grips a lifesaver, and he bit his lower lip as if in pain but in the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever experienced. He could never love someone as much as he did in that second before he came inside her, no condom between them, hoping for the best, maybe expecting the worst. And now she’s asleep, naked, next to him, breathing softly - probably jet-lagged. Today they’ll be on the bus for a whopping twelve hours, but the Pacific Coast Highway offers some of the most beautiful views in the country. He wants to jump from the cliffs with her holding his hand. He wants to sky dive. He wants to do everything with her. But first, breakfast. He snuggles closer to her and presses his lips to her cheek, and her nose, and then her lips.

“Morning,” he smiles as her eyes flutter open.

“Am I dreaming?” She giggled as he pulled her even closer to him. He shook his head silently.

“We've got to drive to San Jose today,” Harry tells her. “We’re leaving in an hour.” She nods and stretches. Her breasts are literally perfect in the early morning sunlight coming in from the windows.

“Someone should paint you,” Harry muses. She smiles down at him, lying against the pillows. Things are familiar with them but in an unfamiliar context. They’ve been here before - early mornings snuggling in bed, snogging, what have you - but today they’re in Seattle, tonight they’ll be in San Jose, tomorrow the boys have another show, she may or may not stick around to watch it with Gemma. 

“Maybe we can commission an artist in London to do one of us both,” she kisses his lips. They lie there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, tired, in love, in a cocoon.

By half nine they’re in the bus with bagels and Snapple iced teas from the cafe in the lobby of the hotel. The bus is a bit cramped, Georgia comes to realize - Tom and Lou and Lux are aboard, as well as the five boys plus Gemma and Georgia. There’s another bus with 5 Seconds of Summer aboard, and a whole other fleet of cars containing the rest of the crew. It takes quite a bit to run a tour. Georgia feels lucky she’s with one of the guys in the band. 

“Can we stop in Portland?” Niall asks. “Shelby from… Lincoln High School thinks m’cute!” They all laugh - not making fun of Shelby from Lincoln High, but rather at the thought of Niall turning up at her doorstep in the middle of the day. “She’s included her address and some very nice pictures…” He grins. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Do you get letters like that?” Georgia asks a bit naively, if she thinks otherwise.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “A lot of gay guys,” he laughs.

Zayn’s on the phone with Perrie in his bunk and Georgia watches the world go by, listening to the hum of activity aboard the bus. 

“So, what happens when we get to San Jose?” She asks Harry eventually.

“We’ll check into the hotel… grab some dinner probably at the hotel restaurant… unless you and Gem want to go somewhere else, of course. We can’t really like, go out…” 

“You’re like caged animals,” Georgia pouts.

“Yeah, but when we go home I promise I’ll take you to Balthazar or something fancy,” he grins at her to assuage her guilt. “We’re staying at the Four Seasons anyway, not like, a cattle ranch.”

“Mm, sounds nice…” Georgia was never one to really give a shit about luxurious accommodations. 

“You should do some sight-seeing tomorrow. Go see the Apple campus and Google.”

“That’s where this concert is?”

“Well, the concert is in San Jose, which is like, near Apple and Google…”

“I wonder what it’s like having a mum or dad or sibling work for one of those companies,” Georgia mused.

“Part of why Gemma’s here,” Harry smiles. “She’s got an interview tomorrow morning with them.”

“Gemma! You didn’t tell me!”

“Google wants me to work in their business development offices…” She blushes. 

“That’s so exciting,” Georgia grins. “We’ll have champagne tomorrow night while the boys are up on stage,” she laughs.

\--

They get to San Francisco around 8:45 and Harry wants to have dinner like a normal human being with the boys and his sister and Lou and Lux and so Paul is stuck calling this restaurant called Acquerello, an Italian place someone finds on Google. The bus pulls over near a park and they’re going to have to risk legging it from there to the restaurant, since the bus isn’t going to fit on the narrow, hilly roads of San Francisco in this lifetime or the next.

It’s dark, but Georgia wishes she had sunglasses. What if someone spots her walking with Harry? Somehow, no one has figured out why Harry sang that song last night. Paul nearly had a shit fit, apparently, according to Zayn, but they calmed him down enough so Harry and “Gigi” as the boys have taken to calling her, could have time alone.

“Should you walk behind me?” Georgia asks Harry.

“No one will see us,” he promises her. She nods and tucks into his side. The wind from the bay is cold at this time of night.

They make it to the restaurant. Gemma and Niall sit with Harry and Georgia. Zayn, Louis, and Liam sit with Lou and Tom. Paul sits at the bar, and two security agents stand out in the front of the restaurant.

Harry orders a $110 bottle of red wine from Italy for he and Georgia, and Niall gets a pint and Gemma gets a $19 glass of white wine from Napa Valley.

“That is what we should be doing tomorrow,” Georgia tells Gemma.

“Well, my interview will be over by ten… maybe we can go taste some wines in Sacramento after?” They take to plotting directions on their phones.

The tasting menu at the restaurant is exquisite. Yes, a small group of fans have gathered outside, but the place is dimly lit enough that Georgia’s confident they won’t get a good picture of her, especially since her back is to the door. She’s confident these girls will figure her out eventually. 

Harry feeds her dessert and they finish off a second bottle of the red wine and the boys split the dinner five ways between their respective Barclay cards (as a treat to everyone there) and they even order to-go for the security guys. An SUV is waiting at the front to pick them up. But Georgia wants to wait until they drive away.

“Babe, they’re going to find you out eventually anyway…” Georgia shook her head fiercely in response.

“You go ahead. They won’t wait for me…”

The waiter that had been serving them all evening approached.

“I can escort you through the kitchen if you would prefer,” he addresses Georgia. 

“See, Harry, it’s fine… I’ll just pay a cab…”

“Georgia Leigh, you’re going to follow me out to that car and you’re going to hold my hand and be proud that you’re more beautiful than any of those crazy American twats could ever be,” he glares at her, and she’s paralyzed by his ‘angry’ face, which has only ever been directed at her probably three times in her entire life, and one of those was when she introduced Finlay to him.

“Ok,” she replies meekly. She takes his hand and they go outside and despite that it’s started to drizzle she feels like she’s going to turn into a walking fireball - her armpits are sweating, her palms are sweating, and girls are guffawing around them and screaming Harry’s and Niall’s and the other boys’ names and yelling Lux, too, which is disturbing because that little girl is beyond confused.

Within seconds they’re in the backseat of the car and driving away through the wet streets of San Francisco. No one’s going to know which hotel they’re staying in. Paul always uses a different fake name to reserve the block of rooms. 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Harry asks her. She nods, staring out the window. Now everyone is going to know what she looks like, their ‘friends’ from home are going to give out her name, tell little embarrassing anecdotes. She’ll have to deactivate her Facebook, and avoid Twitter for the rest of forever, and privatize her Instagram… the joys of a life in the light.

“I don’t know about this, Harry,” she whimpers. He pulls her closer to him, tucks his chin on the top of her head. 

“I do. I’ve always known about this. We don’t have to tell anyone anything.” 

“Tell them we’re just friends.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, we’re not like, officially… publicly… anything yet…”

“No one needs to know whether we’re friends or fucking every night after my shows, okay?” Harry is using his angry face again. She finds it to be an unfair advantage in their fighting.

Soon, they’re at the hotel, and there aren’t hordes of fans, but she’s sure there will be some in the morning. Some young kid in the hotel will rat everyone out. Zayn opts to sleep on the bus, as does Louis. Harry leads Georgia to their room.

“Everyone thinks I’m a diva because I have to sleep in the hotel beds, but you know how bad my back is…” She grins up at him, twisting his words.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be too rough on you, tonight.” He winks at her and once inside their room with the door locked, he has her up against the wall, kissing her mouth raw. She’s left breathless. She’ll never get over this, she’s sure. She pulls his t-shirt up over his head and he lifts her up, cupping her arse in his hands - the biggest hands she’s ever seen on a guy Harry’s height. She loves them so much - his long middle and ring fingers that curl up just so.

“I love you,” Harry pants as she drops to her knees in front of him. It almost startles her enough to choke on his length… do I keep going?

“I love you,” she whispers back before filling her mouth with him again. 

“OH! Fuck,” he groans as she swallows around him and hums in delight at his reaction.

 

08.02.13

 

They’re in Vegas - finally, after a quick flight on a private plane. They’re staying at Caesar’s. There’s no paps in Vegas, thank God. Georgia is starting to adjust to West Coast time differences. Harry’s constantly exhausting her with little trysts here and there, waking her up at three in the morning because he’s hard again. She’s guilty of it too, focusing on his jaw line for two seconds too long and then palming his crotch under the blanket on the bus sofa during Willy Wonka. She’s taken to studying his tattoos after he’s fallen asleep or when they shower together. He wants her to get one. She knows her mum would freak out. But Vegas would be the place to get a tattoo, right? 

“I want something little, Harry,” she giggles as he drags her towards the shop - Pair A Dice.

She flips around through the design books. She says she only wants black ink. Harry agrees to get whatever she gets.

“What if I want an exact replica of your penis on my bum?”

“You can have the exact real thing in your bum, if you want,” he grins, causing her stomach to take flight in a thousand butterflies.

Then she turns the page, and there’s the one she wants - a lotus flower.

“It represents a hard time in life that has been overcome,” the artist tells her. She looks pointedly at Harry. 

“Perfect.” It’s going to cost them $625 each. Harry pays, and they sit in chairs that face each other, with an artist between them and one on Georgia’s left. She’s getting hers on her shoulder, and he’s getting it on his calf. 

She’s surprised that the burn of the needle doesn’t kill her instantaneously. She grits her teeth, and there are certain sensitive spots, but she’s able to breathe through it. It only takes three hours. It’s the size of an apple once it’s done. Harry finishes up a moment later. 

“Our mums are going to skin us alive,” she laughs and takes a photo of hers to post to Instagram with the caption “When in Vegas…” She hasn’t gone on Twitter, hasn’t checked to see the comments on whatever website thinks they’re “right” about who she is. Apparently, she’s still a mystery girl, according to Paul. Won’t be long though. She’s taken the precautions of deleting her Facebook and privatizing her Twitter and Instagram. Harry unfollows her for good measure. There will be no endless torture of bored little teenagers wishing that Harry would pay them mind.

They’re walking back from the shop when Harry’s phone rings. 

“Grimmy!” He calls down the speaker. “I’m well, thanks… tomorrow morning? Well, wait, what… it’s two in the afternoon here which means… what time will I be on? Eleven? I’ll just be getting done our show… well, I’ll be back at the hotel… oh, yeah, the girl in the picture is George… Grimmy says hi, Georgia…” She doesn’t listen to the rest of his conversation. What the actual fuck? Why is Grimmy calling him? Of course he’s jealous. He wants to fuck up their relationship. He wants Harry back. Something. “Okay. I’ll call in at eleven. Bye, Nick Grimshaw!” He’s practically beaming when he turns to tell Georgia all about his conversation, but he senses something’s wrong. “What is it, love?”

“Do you even have to ask? Why is he calling you, Harry?”

“Erm because he wants me to be on the show tomorrow because someone cancelled on him…”

“Isn’t that ironic,” she deadpans. Harry bites his lip.

“It’s nothing, George, really…”

She shrugs him off when he tries to kiss her, and feigns a headache when he asks her to dinner. She orders room service when he goes out to the concert with the other lads and then Gemma comes a-knocking at half nine.

“The boys are going to Hyde, but I didn’t feel like joining,” she shrugs. “What’s happened here?” She glances around - the half-eaten filet mignon and the entirely empty bottle of white wine.

“Just felt like a quiet night in,” Georgia shrugs, sits up against the pillows. 

“Mmm, so, my brother can be a bit of a dickhead when it comes to these kinds of things,” she starts. “He’s… he had it bad when Nick stopped answering his calls, a few months ago. Called me crying a bit here and there. He kept his chin up though. But, I think because they never had closure… maybe he’s still invested in… fixing things? You guys had closure but you’ve opened things back up. Maybe in a sick way it’s giving him hope?” That is a sick idea, Georgia thinks. She simply shrugs.

“I love Harry, and I only love Harry, and if he doesn’t only love me, I can’t do this.” This seems to make Gemma uneasy.

“We’re only here a little while longer and then we’ll all be back in London town and we can laugh this off,” she smiles and pats Georgia’s knee. They pop in Breaking Bad Season One and watch it until they both pass out.

08.03.13

The tattoo is itchy. She wants it off, or healed, or for it to never have happened. She’s got thirteen likes on it on Instagram. Is that bad luck? She’s not sure where Harry is. Why is he avoiding her? She decides to do the unthinkable and types in “Gryles” on Tumblr. There’s audio from their interview.

“Hi, Harold!” It starts in his annoyingly cutesy radio voice.

“Hi, Nick Grimshaw,” Harry’s voice sounds wrecked and very far away. They don’t talk about anything out of the ordinary. They make plans to go to London Fashion Week. Nick says he’s looking forward to seeing him and getting his favorite t-shirts back. The thought that one of the shirts that she might have peeled off his body could have been Nick’s makes her want to throw up. Maybe Harry threw them out. That would be the normal thing to do.

She showers which helps a bit with her never-ending nausea. She walks down to Gemma’s room and knocks, and there’s Gemma smiling brightly, suggesting they go to the Oasis of the Gods and drink loads of mimosas or margaritas. Georgia agrees, and they both change into bikinis and moomoos or whatever the hell they’re called. They bump into Zayn and Liam in the lobby of the hotel.

“Have you seen Harry?” They ask Georgia. She shakes her head. Gemma gets them a cabana and they lay out and order two very large margaritas with sangria mixed in. They wade in the pool, and flirt with the lifeguard and by three o’clock they’re both tanned and drunk and starving, so they go to the Cosmopolitan to get lunch at STK. When they come stumbling through Caesar’s an hour and a half later to get back to the pool, they spot Harry talking heatedly with a guy that looks suspiciously very much like Nick Grimshaw - it definitely isn’t him, but it’s a close fucking resemblance.

“I’m leaving.” Georgia tells Gemma. She looks completely dumbstruck and at a loss for words. Georgia goes over to the elevators, out of the sight line of Harry, and soon finds herself walking with a bell hop who is rolling her two suitcases down to the valet, where one of Harry’s security is going to drive her to the airport. She’s reserved a flight back to London and a flight from London to Manchester.

Harry sees her coming off the elevator, and watches her walk right out the front door. She sees him, seeing her, but she puts her sunglasses on so he doesn’t see her tears.


	6. Part Six

10.14.13

First day of lab coursework and of course she’s got to bloody deal with a fucking One Direction fan in Social Psychology. 

“How do you know Harry? Is he good in bed? Or are you just friends? I heard he fancies Nick Grimshaw. I think they make a right adorable couple, don’t you?” She went on and on until Georgia have her a pointed look to shut the fuck up and the poor girl… Hannah, maybe… walked away like she’d been burned. She tries her hardest not to think about the last month of her summer vacation. She took a job at Flannels, a clothing store in Manchester, and made a good bit of money, all of which she planned to repay her parents for charging their credit card for her flights home. She even had a little bit extra which she put towards using her employee discount and getting herself a back-to-school wardrobe. That part wasn’t so bad. It was everything else.

There were the tabloids at Tesco and the bus stops - slut-shaming her and blaming her for Harry’s apparent depression in the shows leading up to the end of the American leg of the tour. There’s the photos of his lotus tattoo. There’s photos of her and him together that someone nicked off another friend’s Facebook page. There’s a “reliable” source that says she was jealous of Harry’s close friendship with Nick. She doesn’t have to wonder who the fuck would’ve put that in print. She hasn’t listened to Radio One since she got back. Her parents have been nothing but supportive. They haven’t talked to Anne or Robin except to be polite when they come across one another at the pub or at a mutual friend’s.

Georgia didn’t want this - never in a million years. She had five days of pure unadulterated bliss and then it all went to shit because they had a fight about Nick Grimshaw calling. How fucking childish of them.

And, it didn’t help when she went to the loo two weeks after she got back and blood rushed out of her like… something biblical. Doctor said it was “ectopic” or something like that. She cried for days. She flushed her and Harry’s child down the bloody toilet (literally). She didn’t tell a soul - not even her mum, who saw spots of blood on the floor afterwards, despite Georgia’s best efforts at cleaning quickly before driving herself to the clinic. 

She went to see the therapist she worked for straight afterwards. Said how depressed she’d been. He gave her some Zoloft, said it might dull the ache a bit, but not to take it unless it was really bad. It was an anti-anxiety medication more than anything. It would take several weeks to kick in. So, the pill bottle sat at the bottom of her Louis Vuitton tote, under her note books and pens and wallet and water bottle.

She hasn’t been able to reactivate her Facebook. People are still dwelling on seeing her out to dinner with Harry in San Francisco and then again in the lobby of Caesar’s in Vegas (some crazy stalker fan took a picture of them on their way back from the tattoo parlor). Someone has even drawn the conclusion that it’s her and Gemma in the black hoodies from the show in Seattle.

She considered paying to have her tattoo removed, but then again, the symbolism is too much. If she got rid of it, she’d be admitting she was having a rough time of it. 

So, on this terrible dreary Monday in Oxford, who she doesn’t expect to see is Finlay Dawson walking down the road in a pair of Levis and a button-up. 

“Fin?” She’s surprised she’s actually acknowledging him.

“Oh, wow, Georgia, you look great,” he smiles and stops to give her a kiss on the cheek in greeting. He smells nice. 

“You as well,” she smiles. “Listen, about last term…”

“No, no. Let me. I’m really fucking sorry that happened. I was… not myself. I feel terrible about what happened. I really cared about you and I blew it. So, sorry.”

“S’alright,” she shrugs and smiles. “We should have a pint one night…”

“Aren’t you with that Styles guy now?” She shakes her head. “Ah. Well, yeah, why not? You can tell me all about your snazzy research project I’ve been hearing about,” he smiles.

She’s a bit embarrassed, actually by said research project. One of her tutors put her up to it - an email two weeks prior to the start of term set the ball rolling, and now she’s studying schizophrenia in young adults with some of the top psychiatrists in the country. Not only that, they’re looking into curing the god-awful disease.

“It’s not so special,” she waves her hand about dramatically. “But sure, I’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about being a pscyhopath.”

She smiles the whole way back to her room, kicks off her converse and slips into her exercise attire and stretches before taking off on yet another half hour run. She’s in great physical shape - eating her leafy greens, taking vitamins… and maybe it has to do with the guilt of losing her baby, but maybe it also has to do with it’s the right thing, right? Maybe if she’d been healthier six weeks ago… 

 

11.22.13

She’s going to vomit if she sees another photo of Harry leaving Nick’s place in the morning wearing the (basically) same outfit as the night prior. Why can’t he be more careful? Why doesn’t he care that it’s killing her? He LOVED her and then he fucked it up! They both fucked it up by not talking about their issues, but Harry really fucked up because he let her go. Midnight Memories is set to drop in three days, and of course Grimmy is premiering their next single off it the morning it releases. Must be nice, taking advantage of your nubile boyfriend. Harry looks tan and healthy and happy, having enjoyed his stay in Australia no doubt. 

Georgia’s doing quite fine, thanks. She and Fin are taking things slowly, which means they fuck like rabbits when no one’s looking and then act like they’re just friends when anyone is actually paying attention. She doesn’t care if he sleeps around. But he’s nice to talk to, he’s good in bed, and he listens to her. She mucks about with her other friends, Skype calls Ruby and Lucy at home, studies, goes to lectures, goes to her practical once a week, and goes to the hospital for her research project on weekends.

12.21.13

The end of second term came so suddenly. 

“Halfway there, Georgie!” Her dad had smiled at her. Yeah, Dad, great, thanks. Only four more terms to go and she’ll be a graduate of Oxford University with a degree in Experimental Psychology and she’ll probably go on to get her Master’s from Oxford as well but for now it’s nice to think she might be done in a short time.  
There’s a knock at the door but Ben gets it.

“Erm, Georgia, think it’s for you…” And there’s fucking Harry Styles standing in her doorway clutching a gift bag, looking bloody freezing. She rushes to the door and shuts it behind her and pushes past Harry, heading for his Audi.

“We’ll talk in here,” she demands. Harry nods.

“It’s Christmas. And at Christmas you tell the truth,” he starts.

“No, you don’t get to use the line from Love Actually, you prick. Out with it!” 

“I broke things off with Nick, and I love you, and I know you probably hate me so fucking much… I hate me so fucking much, but… I’m sorry for… what happened in Vegas. I’m sorry I never called. I will regret this for the rest of my life. But I wanted you to know the truth. You are the single most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my entire existence and I’ve seen a lot of girls you know,” she laughs a little, more because she’s trying to lighten the mood in the very expensive car. “I just want you to know, if you ever need anything, call me. I got you a Christmas gift. I hope you like it. If not, throw it in the bin. I had to at least try, right?”

She nods. He hands her the bag.

“Why… why did you… take that call in Vegas, Harry?” 

“Because I thought for a second that all my wildest dreams were coming true and that I’d come back to London and be able to still fuck Grimmy and maybe you wouldn’t notice.”

“That’s fucked up,” she states.

“I know. I was a bit fucked in the head for a while. You could probably analyze me. You’re brilliant. You deserve like, Walter Isaacson to be your boyfriend, not me.”

“I’ve screwed up as well, Harry.” She starts. “When I got back I erm… something happened. I haven’t told a soul. I’d appreciate it if… you kept it to yourself as well. It’s been so… hard. And I’ve wanted to call…” She hasn’t forgiven him, not even close but maybe this will help. “I went to the loo, you know, one morning… and there… I was bleeding like… a lot. A lot, a lot. I made a mess of the loo. I drove myself to the hospital. They said erm,” she chokes up. Harry looks like he might pass out.

“Well, what was it?” He demands.

“I was pregnant and I had a miscarriage, and I flushed our fetus down the toilet unknowingly,” she sobs. Harry stares at her for a moment, shocked, white as a ghost. His hands are gripping the leather of the steering wheel so hard - his knuckles are white.

“No one knows?” He asked incredulously.

“Just you and I,” she whispers back. “At Christmas you tell the truth, right?” He rubs at his eyes. “It’s awful. There’s nothing I could’ve done, or should’ve done, which makes it worse, like, I wish I could be really angry at myself for a good reason like I chose to get an abortion or something…” She throws her hands up in the air in exasperation.

“Would you?” He looks at her quizzically. “After everything?”

“No.” She admits. “I’d come after you for child support,” she laughs, and he joins in. Their eyes are wet from tears but they’re… them, if only for a moment.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” she smiles. 

“Can I call you?” He asks.

“You can. Might not answer. I’m a busy girl,” she smiles. He returns the smile and she climbs out of the car.

“Laters,” she waves as he starts the engine up. The car is sleek and sexy, like Harry. This, she will never be able to deny.

12.24.13

Christmas is once again her favorite holiday. She stowed Harry’s gift to her under the tree amongst the other presents and smiled at it there. It was a pretty nondescript bag - reindeer with Santa and his sleigh, some white tissue paper brimming at the top. He’d probably wrapped it himself. 

The night before Christmas Eve, she went down to the pub with Lucy and Lucy’s cousin Ricks, and lo and behold, there was Harry and Gemma. Gemma and Georgia hugged tightly and Harry stood and introduced himself to Ricks, before wrapping his long arms around Georgia’s tiny torso and then Lucy’s. 

They sat together in the booth and ordered a pitcher of Newcastle Ale and then another and another until they were all practically blind drunk. Gemma talked of her new boyfriend, Cal, a music video director of One Direction’s, but also of Shakira’s and Beyonce’s and Michael Jackson’s. 

By half past midnight, they’re stumbling their way out of the pub and back down the road from which they came - Harry and Gemma back towards Holmes Chapel and the rest towards Middlewich (Middlewich Road runs through both villages).

“Georgia, come sleep over, like old times?” Gemma insists.

“Sure, sure,” Georgia shrugs nonchalantly. She links her arm through Gemma’s and pretends they’re school girls again, gossiping about Ben and Harry in hushed whispers. Harry hums quietly beside them, keeping his hands warm in his shearling-lined pockets. They reach the house and Harry unlocks the door and puts the kettle on, but then they all decide a nice bottle of Sherry would be better, on account of the holiday. Gemma drinks half of her glass and passes out on the sofa. 

“Just like old times,” Harry muses. There’s no roaring fire, no carols playing in the background, but there’s light snowfall, and Harry’s there glowing in the dim lighting of the kitchen. The telly’s been muted in an attempt not to disturb Gemma.

“It is, isn’t it?” Georgia takes a last gulp of her wine and puts the glass in the sink.

“To bed then,” he stands and takes her hand. They ascend the stairs together. She can’t remember the last time she saw Harry’s room. It was pre-X Factor, definitely. Almost four years. The thought almost brings tears to her eyes. It’s the same - cream colored duvet, poster of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, Led Zeppelin in black and white, and of course the British flag hung on the door. His suitcase is open on the floor but empty. He slowly starts to take off his jewelry while Georgia watches him from her post at the foot of the bed. She sees his leather-bound journal on the desk and a composition book beneath it.

“No one knows I write a lot of the band’s lyrics,” he sighs.

“Mm?” She’s not surprised. Harry loved English at school. 

“Yeah. It’s all in there. My prompts and stuff,” he shrugs. “I’m so tired, G, so tired,” he sighs.

“Sleep, then,” she pulls back the duvet and peels herself out of her size four jeans and lifts her turtleneck sweater over her head and climbs between the sheets, and Harry follows in his boxer briefs.

\--

So, this morning when they woke up, he had quite an erection, like, world class, and she couldn’t resist wiggling her bum into it, and waking him from sleep.

“Best sleep I’ve had in ages,” Harry whispers into her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She gets up to use the ladies room and when she returns, she tip toes to the doorway and sees Harry’s fist pumping beneath the covers, his teeth digging into his lower lip and his toes curling beneath the blankets.

“Fuck,” he hisses and then his fist slows. He reaches above his head to clean up his mess, and that is precisely when she walks in the door. 

“I know you watched,” Harry mumbles in her hair.

“I know you know,” she giggled. She borrowed a flannel of his and they went downstairs and Anne made them french toast and sausages and tea, and she was practically in tears that Harry and Georgia were snuggling together again. By lunchtime, Harry drove her home, and insisted he’d be at the back door at midnight expecting to be let in.

So, there he is, and it’s 11:58, and she lets him in very quietly. Her dad’s asleep on the recliner as usual. They creep up the stairs and shut her bedroom door, not speaking a word during their small adventure. Harry hangs his coat on the back of her desk chair.

“I missed you today,” he tells her. He leans down and presses his lips to hers. “I’ll never leave you again.”

“I left you, you twat,” she hits his arm and they both chuckle. Although there’s clearly sexual chemistry between them, there’s an unspoken agreement to take things slow. She slips on her pajama set from Juicy Couture and Harry gets down into his briefs again and they’re asleep within seconds.


	7. Part Seven

12.25.13

“I’m going to go before anyone gets up,” Harry whispers in her ear.

“Okay,” she mumbles, exhausted. “Love you,” she drawls.

“Love you,” he chuckles in her ear and kisses her lightly and then slips out the door and down the stairs.

\--

She wakes to the smell of bacon. She immediately dives for Harry’s gift first, and pulls away the tissue paper to find… an orange box? She’s beyond confused. Who besides Hermes uses an orange box? She pulls it from the bag and then her heart literally stops in her bloody chest. No fucking way, she screams internally.

“Darling is that..?” Her mum looks as concerned as she feels. She nods and undoes the brown bow holding the box together and then lifts the lid and peels away the luxurious tissue paper concealing probably the most beautiful Christmas gift she’s ever received in her lifetime - an Hermes Birkin in “So Black.” She only knows thanks to the various celebrities that have the same bag and often discuss the color.

“Oh my God… this… this probably cost him more than a car!” She practically yelped. Inside the bag, she found an even bigger surprise, but first the card.

Mick Jagger gets these things for his Georgia, so Paul says. I think you’ll like them. x Harry

There’s a Prada wallet in Saffiano leather, a Tiffany’s box containing a diamond encrusted key on a silver chain, a white and gold iPhone 5s, a Marc Jacobs iPhone case with brass knuckles attached, a bottle of Chanel No. 5 perfume, and $1,000 to La Perla. She’s speechless.  
Her plain black iPhone 4s rings beside her on the sofa and she sees Harry’s name. She quickly grabs it and answers, dashing up the stairs to her bedroom so no one listens in on her conversation.  
“Are you insane?” She asks, not bothering with a simple hello. Harry responds with heavy laughter.  
“You deserve the very best,” he replied.  
“Hermes though? That’s like…”  
“Bloody ridiculous, is what it is, but I knew you’d like it,” he laughs again. “Mum says we’re coming round for supper, yeah?”  
“Mm,” she replied, still dumbstruck. “See you this afternoon, then?”  
“Yeah, cool,” he said, and they hung up. She laid atop her bed for a moment, smelling him in the sheets. How were things so easy between them yet so difficult at the same time?

At half three, Anne and Robin and Gemma and Harry were in the dining room of the Wright home, and Ben was staring at Gemma like she had hung the moon and Ella was too preoccupied with her newest boyfriend trying to FaceTime her from Leeds.   
“I want you to come spend a week with me in London,” Harry asks gently after dessert. She nods, not sure what will happen, but hoping for the best.  
“I want to be friends,” she tells him. He nods. This is fine, for now. Maybe they’ll be friends that kiss at the pub once in awhile. Maybe they’ll make new friends together. Maybe Harry will get over Nick Grimshaw, maybe he won’t. For now, it’s enough.

 

12.31.13

“Harry Styles hurry the hell up before I grow any grey hairs!” She yells from the bedroom, where her dress is half unzipped and she can’t quite get it all the way up. So, she needs Harry, who is taking fucking forever. They’re going to a black tie event for a charity organization that Harry’s quite passionate about, and this will be their first public outing together, despite that neither of them is admitting that they’re a couple to anyone, especially not themselves or the public. The past few days have been wonderful - snuggling up on Harry’s giant leather sofas and watching films or American television on syndication… baking cookies and brewing mulled wine and having a few friends over here and there. 

This dress is a bit itchy but it’s gorgeous, so she forgets about it. It’s Marchesa, from Harrod’s, and completely free because it’s good publicity for them and she has to give it back in the morning. 

Harry appears in the doorway and his eyes widen in a completely genuine reaction, not one of those corny moments in romantic comedies. He genuinely thinks she’s beautiful. Her hair is pulled into a loose bun at the back of her head and Lou had a field-day with her smoky eye and contouring her cheekbones. The dress is burgundy silk with ornate filigree embroidering. It feels like it weighs ten pounds. One of Harry’s handlers has been tasked with making sure she doesn’t trip. Harry wears his signature bow-tie as the unofficial front man for the band.

“You look beautiful,” he gushes. She realizes he says this nearly every day at least once, either in reassurance or pure admiration. 

“The zip is stuck,” she points behind her and she watches him in the full-length mirror as he untangles it and zips her into her £15,000 dress. She adjusts a stray hair and follows Harry slowly down the stairs to where the rest of the lads are waiting - Perrie, Sophie and Eleanor. Niall refused to find a date for the night, claiming that there would be loads of models there dying to kiss his precious Irish nuts. 

“Oh, wow,” Eleanor breathed out. Georgia had become somewhat close with the other girls. 

“Oh, stop,” Georgia blushes. “We are one good-looking group of kids, yeah? Let’s take a photo!” Lou stands next to Niall in her jeans and vest top to take the photo, since, well Niall had to be difficult and ruin the line-up. Everyone says they want a print of it. They all look so… perfect, like the cast of a reality series going to prom, or something. The girls take a picture together and post it on their Instagrams and the boys do a group shot, Harry and Niall of course holding Louis.

They pile into a limousine, because that’s what you do for black tie events, and then Niall leads the way out of the car and onto the red carpet, followed by Louis and Eleanor, Liam and Sophie, and then Harry gets out but then Perrie follows, and then Zayn follows so it’s not awkward and then… well, Georgia has to get out of the car, right? The low murmur turns into practical hysterics from the paparazzi. The flashes from the camera are blinding.

“You’re like Marilyn Monroe, babe,” Harry whispers in her ear. Great photo op for Getty.  
The boys pose for pictures together and the girls mull around with the handlers for a moment and then join their dates and Niall photobombs each of them, and then grabs Jourdan Dunn’s hand and they pose together. 

Georgia smiles brightly and tries not to trip. Harry keeps his hand on her waist through the duration of photographs. Then, they’re inside, and it’s very quiet compared to outside, and there are servers walking around with trays of champagne and scotch. Harry grabs two scotches and Georgia grabs two champagnes. They link arms and throw back their shot of scotch and then slowly sipped their glasses of champagne, refilling until they had to sit down at dinner and listen to a line of speeches about how much money they’d made through the year and how grateful the children were… it was really moving stuff, to be honest. Harry got up with the boys to auction a gift for the charity and at half ten they were all back in the limousine and on their way to Groucho. 

“You think they’ll take the piss out of this dress?” Georgia laughs as they walk in the back entrance of the club. Harry shrugs. 

“I think if anyone says anything about that dress… it’ll be how jealous they are that they’re not wearing it,” he smiles.

At midnight Harry pulls her from the dancefloor and into his lap in a sofa, presses his lips to hers.

“Happy new year, love of my life,” he whispers. 

 

01.04.14

It snows on New Year’s Day, and the day after, and the day after. Harry and Georgia remained indoors. Harry decided he would, instead of driving her back to Middlewich, take her to Oxford at the start of second term. He’ll be away for a few days doing promo in LA and New York before she has to be back, but he promises to take her back-to-school shopping. He promises he’s not trying to buy her love, but instead leave traces of himself everywhere so that she can never leave him again. She laughs when he says this. She thinks, what could possibly happen?

Nick Grimshaw talks about how he hung out with Niall and Zayn at Funky Buddha, which irks her. Harry says he knew nothing about it, but it’s only fair because Nick is their friend, too. They listen to Lorde’s album, Pure Heroine, and Harry writes in his journal and they order pizza and Thai food every day. They don’t answer their phones. They don’t make love or kiss or even tell each other they love one another. They lie snuggled up on the sofa or they sit at the table working on a puzzle of Monet’s waterlilies, 10,000 fucking pieces of it, they drink bottles of expensive wine and open Harry’s fan mail one morning and crack up at the desperate attempts of girls all over the world to get a response from him. Topless photos, SD cards with video…

Georgia understands why they love him, though. Who doesn’t love him?

So this morning the skies are gray but there’s no snow, thank fuck, and so they venture out for some brunch at a small cafe down the road. The waitress eyes them but they’re pretty discreet. By the afternoon The Daily Mail has an article about how they’ve finally emerged from their love nest. 

“They were so in love… holding hands and giggling over each other’s choices from the menu…” Harry rolls his eyes.

“She’ll lose her job for that,” he sighs. “And she probably didn’t even say half the things they’re saying she did.” Georgia shrugs and looks around on her research database for any new articles regarding young adults with neurological disorders. She takes a few notes.

“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” Harry gestures.

“I do, yeah,” she smiles. “It comes naturally to me, helping these people and really trying my damnedest to find solutions for them. I want to do CBT when I finish with my doctorate. I want to change the way we do CBT.”

“Gemma went, you know, when erm, she and Ben split up. She sank into a depression and… well, it helped a lot.”

“That’s great,” she smiles. “I went, after the um, incident.” Harry nods, understanding, as always.


	8. Part Eight

01.10.13

Harry leaves for LA very early in the morning and kisses her cheek goodbye. She wakes up again at half nine and there’s a group text between Perrie, Eleanor and Sophie to make plans for lunch and shopping in Covent Garden. No one will recognize them, they’re sure, as long as they wear sunglasses and maybe if Perrie puts a beanie on over her newly lavender hair. Georgia slips into a pair of jeans, Uggs, a thermal top from Free People and a puffy vest, along with a nice thick cashmere scarf. It’s a bit warmer today than it has been - 7 degrees instead of 0, finally. 

The girls meet up at Shake Shack and laugh their way through lunch, unnoticed by anyone around them. None of them are wearing any makeup or a ball gown, and their boyband boyfriends are nowhere to be seen. First stop was All Saints, then Burberry and Chanel, French Connection, H&M, Jack Wills, Jo Malone, Kurt Geiger, Levi’s, Reiss, Zara and Ted Baker, ending with drinks at a pub near Harry’s house. They had to put all of their bags in the boot of the cab, since they all went a bit overboard. 

01.15.13

Harry makes Georgia pick him up at Heathrow at seven in the morning in his Range Rover.

“I don’t want to take a sodding taxi!” He pleaded as he boarded his flight.

“Fine, Harold,” she rolled her eyes. They got breakfast on their way back to Harry’s flat and she went on and on about how much she loves the other girls and how they made a music video to Teenagers by MCR, which he laughed quite hard about. She helped him unpack his things and throw the washing in. They made dinner together - linguine bolognese and she showed him her entire new wardrobe, which he was quite impressed with.

“Zayn wants to do drinks and a gallery opening at White Chapel,” Harry tells her after looking up from a text message. She’s just excited to wear her new leather wrap skirt and perforated white top from Reiss. She tries it on with three different pairs of shoes, eventually deciding on caged booties from Zara. 

Perrie and Georgia got on like a house on fire, Harry remarked at one point, earning two death stares from both young ladies. The gallery was displaying six artists and Zayn was mostly interested in the graffiti exhibit.

“I have to come meet all of your friends at Oxford,” Perrie gushes as they attempt to get a taxi.

“Oh, you must! It’s…” She pauses in her tracks, realizing that she hasn’t really told Finlay that things can’t go on between them. “It’s great,” she smiles, never missing a beat.

 

01.17.13

The car ride from London to Oxford was pretty quick, taking just over an hour. Harry sings the whole way to Coldplay and Bon Iver and Kings of Leon. They’re both exhausted. Nearly twenty days together - much more than the original week they planned - has taken its toll, not only on Harry’s bank account but on their willingness to part from each other. Harry parks outside the dormitory and they unload Georgia’s bags onto a cart and then try to stuff all of her new clothes into her closet and chest of drawers, along with all of her shoes and bags. Harry suggests getting a lock box for her diamond necklace, and then says he’ll order it from Amazon.

Georgia politely tells him she wants to nap. It starts to snow, and Harry crawls into the bed next to her, and soon they’re both snoring lightly. 

When Georgia wakes, Harry’s gone, having left her a note on her pillow that he will see her before he leaves for tour in the spring, obviously, and that he loves her. It’s the perfect note to wake up to. They haven’t committed to one another yet. But why should they, when he’s about to be gone for another eight months?

She makes a cup of tea in the student lounge and talks to two of her sort of acquaintances, and then retreats to her room, and reads The Little Prince to herself before heading out to get dinner from the dining hall - chicken pot pie!

She thinks she can settle into a routine of normalcy. She doesn’t think she’s got Harry out of her system, but she’ll be able to manage her thoughts of him now. Now, he’s a part of her life, just like her coursework and her other friends and her family. She thinks of him fondly as she falls asleep that night. She says a prayer for them.

 

02.01.14

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” She whisper/sings as she slips under Harry’s duvet. He’s asleep - been sick with the flu for the past week. She hadn’t been able to visit until today. She set this day aside for Harry and only Harry. 

“I feel like shite,” Harry complains. 

“I know, babe, I know,” she rubs his hair. “I’ll run you a bath and put the kettle on.”

She does just that and pries him from the sheets that smell of body odor. She throws them in the washer and puts fresh sheets from the closet on the bed, and sprays them with a bit of her perfume that she leaves at Harry’s. She finds him naked in the tub with his mug of tea, looking much better. 

“Come lie with me,” he pleads. She strips out of her clothes and steps into the piping hot bath. She’s not sure why she’s so comfortable being naked with him. He’s so sick, though, and she knows he needs this. 

They lie in the tub for a while, sharing sips of his tea, and eventually she gets out and runs the shower and she dries Harry’s hair with her hair dryer she keeps under the sink, and then dries her own as he’s too busy being a nudist and lying on top of his duvet stark naked. She lies opposite him with a t-shirt of his on and some knee-high socks she must’ve left at some point. 

Her diamond necklace hangs between her breasts, on a longer chain she bought herself at Harry Winston. 

“Tour is going to be miserable,” he whines. 

“Why, babe?”

“I just know it is. The label is talking about… the next one being our last. They keep calling me for private meetings.” She realizes why he’s sick now. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles against his chest. “I’ll love you even if you’re the Justin Timberlake of your group,” she giggles.

“Will you be my Jessica Biel?”

“Maybe. I need a big ring. And I won’t wear pink to our wedding,” she laughs. “We could elope…”

“I want a nondenominational service,” Harry says. “Maybe eloping would be good.”

“We’re both sinners in the eyes of God anyway. I think as long as we have good intentions?”

“I’ve always felt that way, too. Like… he’s not really going to give a shit if I had gay sex. I was in love, you know?” She nods. A pit forms at the thought of Harry doing Nick up the arse. She hasn’t been able to be not jealous.

“And I had a miscarriage,” she sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

“That’s not a sin,” he reprimands.

“I know. It feels like it was a punishment sometimes.”

“Do you want to try again?” He asks, genuinely wondering if she’d let him knock her up.

“No, thanks. Not for another six or seven years,” she smiles.

“I don’t know if my sperm can wait to fuck you that long,” he laughs.

“Hmm. We can talk about it.”

“I’m too tired for sexual relations at the moment anyway,” Harry murmurs, falling asleep as the words tumble from his lips. Not tired, Georgia gets up and sifts through his refrigerator, and finds some chicken that will probably be expired if she doesn’t cook it, so she roasts it in the oven and then makes chicken noodle soup with it and the egg noodles in the cabinet.  
She leaves a note on the pot that he can thank her in sexual favors later.


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of mature content! Just an FYI. Nothing... too graphic. I find it a bit awkward to write ;P

02.14.14

Valentines Day. Georgia wakes to a picture of Harry’s erect penis on her iPhone. A Friday Valentine’s Day - meaning, Valentine’s Weekend to many of her friends with boyfriends/girlfriends. She hasn’t planned anything, but she’s hopeful that Harry has something up his sleeve. He’s meant to be home this weekend, but she’s not sure, she hasn’t really talked to him in a few days, thanks to her pilings of coursework on top of her research project.

She uses parenthesis to make a text-vagina, giggling as she sends it off. Moments later, her phone rings.

“Good morning to you,” she says.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Harry tells her.

“You’ve always liked Valentines,” she muses. She’s thankful he sounds like he’s feeling better. He wasn’t able to celebrate his birthday, which she felt badly about.

“I have. I like Valentines with you especially.” She thinks about Nick. What did they do for Valentines two years ago?

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I’ve just woken up to a lovely photo of your penis. Is that a come on?”

“It can be if you want it to be,” he sounds… like he really wants to have sex with her. She’d really quite like to have sex with him, too, but sex has always complicated things for them. She gets attached and he pulls away, and answers Nick Grimshaw’s phone calls.

“I’ve got a lecture in an hour and then I’ll be, you know, around,” she flirts.

“That so? Might have to swing by Christ Church then, eh?” She smiles. 

“You don’t have to if you’ve got another Valentine…” 

“Are you bloody insane?” He laughs, and she joins him.

“See you laters then,” she promises. They hang up and she showers and tries to decide what looks casual enough for a lecture but not too casual for Valentines Day. She decides on a black cashmere sweater from Zara and a pair of jeans with holes in the knee and her black Acne ankle boots. She contemplates wearing something with hearts on it but finds she’s limited in that department - not even a pair of pink socks to her name. She makes a mental note to buy something pink. She hasn’t used her La Perla gift certificate yet. There aren’t any La Perla stores in London, though, just the online site.

After her lecture, there’s some snow, so she pulls on her leather gloves and her FÉLINE beanie. She stops to talk to Anna, a friend from her statistics course first term of last year. She’s got a boyfriend who goes to Cambridge. They met through the student unions at a debate conference last year. Why can’t Harry be a guy from the student union who wears glasses and talks about Milton and slowly fucks me on my dorm bed?

She’s walking across the quad to get to her room when she sees Harry leaning against the brick wall, hands stuffed in his wool coat, looking a bit chilly but rosy-cheeked and happy to see her.

“It’s Valentines Day, so I’m going to kiss you,” he tells her before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. To her surprise, they’re warm, despite the freezing temperature. The kiss is soft, close-lipped, but a perfect first kiss after so much time - their last kiss was at Groucho on New Year’s. 

“You’re a good kisser,” she grins at him once they pull apart. His hands are wrapped around her waist and hers around his neck. They look like proper teenagers in love. She feels like one, too. Only Harry.

“Thanks, I’ve had a bit of practice,” he winks and she rolls her eyes and they go inside. 

“What shall we do for the lovely Feast of Saint Valentine?” She asks.

“Well, I’ve thought about it, and erm, I really think like… we should go to Paris,” he blurts. She looks a bit startled. 

“That’s a lot for a first Valentine’s Day,” she smirks, crossing her arms. “Not sure I want things to be so serious so quickly.”

“Tough shit, we’ve got a flight in three hours,” he laughs. She’s a bit startled, but she’s excited to wear her Hermes birkin in Paris. 

“I’ve got… lectures on Monday afternoon…” she fumbles. She’s thanking heaven she got a bikini wax last week. She’s not sure why she’s so nervous to go to Paris with Harry. What if he wants to make things exclusive between them but she’s not quite ready? The tabloids are still speculating if they’re dating or not, thanks to their appearance at the charity dinner at New Year’s. “Sources” like Harry’s publicist divulge little bits of information off the record like that she took care of him while he was sick or that he bought her Chanel perfume for Christmas. No one discusses labels. Harry and Georgia haven’t discussed it. They’ve left it the way they’ve always wanted it left - friends who kiss infrequently and have massive feelings for one another but aren’t mature enough to take the dive into full-blown commitment.

“Great. We’ll be back Monday morning.

\--

They land in Paris at five. A driver is waiting for them in arrivals with STYLES written on a piece of paper, and he helps them with their weekender bags and escorts them to the waiting car. Both Harry and Georgia speak near-perfect French, which impresses the driver.

Half an hour later they’re in the center of Paris at the Four Seasons overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the river bank. 

“It’s amazing,” Georgia breathes. “What name did you check into the hotel under?” She questions him. She wonders if things get bad, will they have to call Harry’s manager? Maybe they don’t even know he’s taken her here? “Who knows we came here?”

“Zayn knows, said they’re very discreet here. This is where he took Perrie when he proposed,” he smiles. “I actually bought the ring initially, did you know that? Zayn didn’t want anyone to know it was happening so he sent me to the Harry Winston store in New York and I told the sales people it was for a friend back home, and obviously no one thought I was proposing to anyone because I didn’t have a girlfriend,” he laughs.

“That was really nice of you,” she smiles.

“Yeah. Zayn’s cool. He gets me.” I get you, too, idiot. 

At the desk Harry checks in under Harry Styles, tips the concierge and asks him kindly to be discreet. We board the lift and it takes us up, up and up and then we’re in what appears to be The Penthouse Suite.

“This is… gorgeous,” she looks around. There are fresh flowers on every surface. There’s a terrace with a direct view of the Eiffel Tower, which has just lit up due to the sunset. 

“Shall we have some champagne?” Harry asks, attempting to be debonair.

“Before dinner? Are you trying to get me drunk?” He laughs at her questioning. 

“Yes, before dinner. Everyone drinks champagne all the time in France. We could have some rose, though?” She shakes her head. She likes champagne. It makes her feel tipsy after one glass, because of the bubbles.

He pours two flutes and they clink glasses and sip, watching the world of Paris from their terrace, despite the cold temperature.

“Paris in the winter is gorgeous, but Paris in the spring is a thing unto itself,” Harry tells her. He’s so worldly it’s hard to believe sometimes. She could ask him for a restaurant or hotel recommendation for anywhere in the world and he’d have an idea.

They finish their drinks.

“Let’s change for dinner,” Harry suggests.

“What shall I wear?” She questions.

“Maybe check the wardrobe?” Harry suggests. She gives him a look as if to say - seriously? But she goes inside and finds the bedroom and opens the armoire. She’s stunned speechless. Inside - a red Dior coat with a bow around the neck and black silk skirt and cashmere sweater. 

“I picked it out of their lookbook and had a courier bring them before we arrived. I thought you’d like them,” he blushes. 

“They’re beautiful,” she runs her hand over the fabric. 

“There are shoes as well,” he says and finds them on the shelf of the armoire. The signature red soles make her heart drop into her stomach. “Louboutins,” Harry says.

“I know,” she smacks his arm. “They’re… like a dream come true. I feel like Cinderella,” she laughs. “Get out so I can get dressed!” She laughs. Harry does as he’s told, stepping into the bathroom to change into his dinner suit. She notices that there is also a bag from Agent Provocateur in a chair under the window that she didn’t notice. Inside she finds a pale pink demi bra in the finest lace. She’s thankful for the coat. Her nipples would show right through the sweater with just this bra on. There are a matching pair of knickers and suspender, along with a pair of sheer stockings that she’ll have to clip. She’s just gotten everything on where Harry emerges from the bathroom in his suit - she can tell by the look of it that it’s Burberry, his favorite British designer.

“Oh,” he swallows. She notices his cheeks turn pink. He looks so handsome. She stands there, fidgeting with her hands. She takes the Louboutins out of their box and slides them onto her feet - perfect size 37. “Oh, fucking hell,” Harry growls and stalks towards her. Even with her heels on, she is not quite at eye level with Harry. He brushes his nose against hers and whispers the simplest of commands- “Please,” he whines. She nods and his lips find hers. She isn’t sure if they have a reservation standing - but with one quick nibble on her neck from Harry, she couldn’t care less. She works at unbuttoning his dress shirt - and slides it along with his blazer to the floor.   
“That’ll wrinkle,” she muses and bends down to get it and hang it over the chair.

“Do that again,” Harry pleads, sitting on the edge of the bed, his cock pressing against the zipper of his trousers and his tattoos looking quite delicious against his skin. She wishes she could tie him up and take him right then and there. She slowly bends, keeping her legs straight. She stands again and walks over to Harry, and straddles him right there on the edge of the bed.

“Does that feel nice?” She purrs in his ear, grinding herself along his length. He bites his lip in response and lets out a long exhale. “Mmm,” she murmurs in his ear before nibbling the lobe and then biting his neck. 

“You’re in trouble,” he growls, lifts her up and then throws her back on the bed. She slowly slides herself towards the pillows and he crawls up the bed to her. So much room for activities she laughs in her mind.

They’re a mess of sweaty limbs and trembling fingers as Harry brings her to not one, not two but three orgasms before finally finishing - sans condom, somehow neither of them thought to bring one. 

“I can’t feel my legs,” she laughs breathily as she leans back against the down-filled pillows. Harry kisses the inside of her wrist.

“I forgot how good sex with you is, isn’t that terrible?” He pants. “You’ve kept me at bay too long, Miss Wright.”

“Are we late for dinner?” She asks, stomach rumbling.

“Not quite,” he smiles. “We don’t need a reservation. I just let the maitre d know we’d be there this evening,” he informs.

Half an hour later, they’re both still glowing from their lovemaking but dressed in their proper attire for dining in Paris. 

“I feel like… a million dollars,” she gushes. Harry scoffs and kisses her.

“You’re worth trillions,” he replies.

People stare as they walk across the lobby - but not at Harry. 

“Is this what being you is like?” She murmurs to him as they get into the Maybach that is to take them to the restaurant.

“No. Usually the people admiring me haven’t got any taste,” he laughs. “They think my tattoos and my messy hair are sexy, or summat,” he shrugs.

They arrive at the restaurant, which serves a six course tasting menu and wine pairings and the most fabulous chocolate dessert that either of them have ever tasted. It is only moments away from their hotel, and Harry suggests they walk back. There is some light snowfall but nothing to deter them from a romantic stroll. They’re quiet most of the way, taking in the sights. They’d been here together before but for a school trip, just before Harry auditioned for X Factor. They’d been sixteen, in love, but also in love with their youth. Now, Harry is twenty and Georgia will be as well in a few short months. By no means are they “old” but they feel the change that four years has brought to their lives.

Back in their suite, they run the bath and immerse themselves in it with lavender scented soap. Harry shampoos Georgia’s hair and sings to her - not something he often does, but knowing it makes her toes curl, the raspiness and depth to his voice - not at all the boy that sang Isn’t She Lovely for X Factor auditions. 

 

02.15.14

Harry’s phone wakes them - Paul, making sure everything is alright in Paris, and Harry reassures him that there are no crazy fans loitering outside the hotel. 

“We’re going shopping today, and then we’re going to see Versailles,” he dictates. “When we get back, we can go see the Eiffel Tower, because no one will be able to see us, and really, the tourists are who we have to look out for here,” Harry laughs. 

They shower separately and Harry pulls on a pair of his outrageously tight black jeans and a white t-shirt, along with a flannel and pair of dark brown leather boots. He pulls a beanie over his hair because he can’t quite style it the way Lou does it, but Georgia doesn’t care either way. He slips on his various jewelry - rings, bracelets, necklaces and she opts for a black wrap skirt, black turtleneck, black tights and her new Louboutin heels, and of course her Hermes birkin. Harry insists she wear the Dior coat, despite its garish red color in daylight. 

The same Maybach takes them to Versailles. It’s beautiful, even if it is not in bloom. They tour the palace - Marie Antoinette’s quarters, etc until lunchtime when they depart back for Paris, specifically the Champs-Elysees. They have lunch in a small cafe - crepes - and drink a bottle of white wine from the south of France. Harry takes her to Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Chanel, Dior, and Hermes. Their driver contends with their bags. 

“I have tickets to the Paris Opera Ballet tonight, they’re showing Oneguine,” Harry informs her as they arrive back at the hotel. “Don’t kill me, but I’ve had a dress selected for you in secret. It’s… erm, black tie,” Harry fumbles over his words. “Starts at half seven,” he adds.

\---

After the ballet, which was one of the most beautiful performances Georgia had ever seen in her life - musically, visually, artistically - they returned back to the hotel and ordered room service. Georgia orders the lobster caesar salad, french onion soup, and creme caramel, and Harry opts for a rib-eye and goat cheese salad and petit fours. They stuff themselves and drink two bottles of wine and smoke a spliff that the waiter gives them courtesy of Harry’s very generous tip and whisper, and then they descend on the streets of Paris again on foot to see the Eiffel Tower.

Harry dips her as he kisses her and a tourist takes their photo for them, not having a clue as to who Harry is, but telling them they are a very cute couple.

02.16.14

“Can we live in Paris once you’re done with 1D?” Georgia laughs. “You can sing in the streets and I’ll have a private therapy practice for diplomats’ children.”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Harry smiles, watching her from his pillow. She’s reading e-mails on her phone, the phone Harry gave her for Christmas.

“Mm,” she replies. 

“We can go to le Louvre today,” Harry suggests. She simply shrugs. “Or not,” he replies.

“We can,” she agrees. “I want to wear jeans though. And my boots.” Her feet are starting to ache from walking around in stilettos.

“I love you best when you wear jeans and boots,” Harry tells her, and she blushes. They shower together and get dressed, have breakfast in Le Cinq, the hotel restaurant, and drink three mimosas each before tottering down the road to Le Louvre. 

“You know, I’ve been wondering if you’d ask me to be, like, exclusive this weekend,” she asks Harry as they admire the Mona Lisa.

“I was wondering if you’d ask,” he smiles. “I would like to be exclusive with you. I love you more than life itself, Georgia Leigh.” 

“I love you,” she replies. They lightly kiss. It isn’t a huge romantic production, it isn’t even something she thinks they’ll remember in thirty years (maybe they will, thanks to Mona Lisa) but it’s perfect.   
They pack their things that night and leave out their travelling clothes. Their flight is at 7:30 in the morning, and they’ll be back in London at 7:40, and then Harry has to race her back to Oxford so that she can prepare for her lectures that start at 12:10. 

“This has been the best weekend of my entire life,” she tells him as he pulls out of her. 

“Mine as well,” Harry admits. “This kind of happiness… people write about this stuff. Like… Hemingway, or something.” She grins at him, thinking of Farewell to Arms. 

“I’ll miss you when you’re gone,” she admits.

“I will miss you as well. We don’t really leave until April, though. We have some time. I’ve got rehearsals and whatever, but we have a bit of time, before you know, things potentially go to shit.”


	10. The End

02.14.18

Harry’s POV

Four years ago seems like a lifetime - we were about to leave for tour and were in the midst of recording our fourth album… and since, of course as all boy bands go, we’ve broken up and moved on with our lives. We of course keep in touch, but like friends that go to university and then go on to the real world, we don’t see each other as often as we’d like. We didn’t all settle in London - Liam and Zayn craved the countryside and Niall went to LA and Lou kind of travels about. I stay as close as possible to Georgia. She’s soon to finish her PhD coursework at Oxford and then she’s got her eye on a position as a tutor and clinical psychologist for Oxford. She loves her university town - the little pubs and the beautiful buildings and the Harry Potter tours. I tried to coax her to take time off with me to travel. I want to give her the world, but she likes little weekends here and there throughout Europe and we spent a few weeks last summer in Central and South America volunteering for UNICEF. 

She’s so beautiful, especially now that she’s five months pregnant. 

It was a surprise to both of us - and she was a bit panicked at first but her colleagues and associates at Oxford were more than understanding. We’re both adults. She managed to tweak her schedule to do her examinations a bit early (beginning of May) so that she can deliver the baby and have the summer - just the three of us. Loyal fans of 1D had a field day when they found out I’d be the first daddy of the group. But, now that we’re not technically celebrities - the paps don’t care and they don’t follow us unless it’s a slow day and even then they’re not as awful as they once were - yelling horrible questions at us and trying to tear our relationship apart on the streets of London.

We’ve both grown as individuals and as a couple. She’s gotten over hearing Nick’s voice on the radio, even if I haven’t gotten over the loss of one of my best mates. What Nick and I had was special, and I would’ve liked to have kept in touch, but I knew it would hurt her more than it would serve a purpose for me. 

I never thought I’d really be capable of such a long-term commitment to anyone. But she’s like the wind, changing directions every day, a plethora of untapped knowledge about everything from John Lennon’s birthday to every psychological disorder under the sun. 

I love her, and she loves me, and together, we will be.

 

07.04.15

Georgia’s POV

“Harry, we’re English, why are we going to a fourth of July party?” I laughed as we walked through the front door of the house in Malibu. Apparently, it was a friend’s or something from the 1D Days. 

“Well, I might’ve lied about that last part,” he grins, holding Oliver to him. I smile at my one-year-old beautiful boy, his hair is blonde like mine but curly like his daddy’s. His smile is all Harry, too, complete with dimples and lopsidedness. 

“What do you mean?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I’ve erm, I’ve bought this place for us,” Harry winces, waiting for me to pounce. It has been a hectic year to end my PhD - late nights and early mornings with Oliver, long hours in hospitals studying the criminally insane, and logging my lab practical hours. I was more than willing to come on a vacation to Malibu with Harry. Plus, he’d agreed to sign an artist development contract with Interscope. He was working on recording his EP in studios in LA. Pharrell had agreed to even sit in on a few sessions. Harry had stayed by my side for years at Oxford. We needed some “us time” away from that.

“You bought it?” I probably sound a little more panicked than I should. The place is beautiful. It’s right on the water - the views from the living room are to die for. There’s beautiful landscaping everywhere and a jacuzzi in the garden. It’s an oasis.   
“What do you think, Olly, should mum calm down and enjoy a few months in Malibu with us?” He tickles Oliver’s belly and our little boy lets out a laugh/squeal. How can I say no? “A few people are going to be over shortly. I’ve had groceries delivered… so we can barbecue.” 

I can’t help but smile at him. Of course nothing is halfway with Harry. I don’t even want to think about how much this place has cost him. 

\--

Even though I said as soon as Oliver started sleeping through the night, I’d be the happiest woman in the world, I still somehow manage not to fall asleep until at least midnight most nights, and tonight isn’t any different. 

I’m cozied up to the fire pit on the patio overlooking the water, admiring the clear skies and enjoying the salty air.

“You look quite comfortable,” I hear Harry’s voice from the doorway. I smile at him - even after all of these years, he’s still the same amazingly hot guy that I once fell for as a teenager. Doesn’t help that he’s started to really grow some stubble and he spends most mornings working out.

“Come sit,” I beckon him. 

“Let’s go sit up there,” Harry points to the deck that’s a few feet higher up and attached to our master bedroom. I follow him up the wooden planked steps and wrap my arms around his waist from behind as we watch the dark waters lap at the beachfront. “So, listen,” he starts. “This trip wasn’t entirely innocently planned.”

My stomach drops. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something…” He spins around and puts his hand in his pocket.

“Are you going to shoot me?” I make a frightened face and he laughs.

“Not quite,” he procures a small box in his hand - red, with gold detailing. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. “I never thought I’d be the marrying type,” he begins. “But, I love you, and I love our son, and I want us to be a family… you make me the happiest man in the world and I’d be honored if you’d spend the rest of your life with me.” His voice shakes a bit towards the end with emotion.

“Yes,” I smile, a happy, stray tear slipping from my eye. He plucks the ring from its cushion in the box. I analyze it for a second - definitely more than two carats - a single diamond on a platinum setting. Traditional, simple - like us.


End file.
